


gold leaf across your lips

by Eurydia



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Threats, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Spoilers, Suicide Attempt, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 22,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurydia/pseuds/Eurydia
Summary: Heartman wakes up on Higgs' Beach.If they want to survive, they'll have to survive each other first.(Told through journal entries and prose).
Relationships: Heartman/Higgs Monaghan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	1. Higgs' Journal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Selected Tag Explanations**  
>  _Enemies to Lovers_ \- The relationship in the beginning of the story is closer to a hostage type situation, but will slowly progress to something less hostile and eventually romantic.
> 
> _Canon-Typical Violence_ \- I tried to portray Higgs close to how he is in-game, and included in this fic are several instances where Higgs threatens to hurt and/or kill Heartman.
> 
> _Implied Sexual Content_ \- There will be references to Higgs' sexual thoughts on various characters, notably Sam, Fragile, and Heartman. There won't be any smut in this fic but there will be fluff.
> 
> _Spoilers_ \- This fic contains **major spoilers** for Higgs' storyline and the ending.

Title

Higgs' Journal

When

Day ???

You’re Higgs. The particle of god that permeates all existence. Herald, executor, pawn. Goddamn fool. Damaged goods.

You knew she wouldn’t have it in her. She delivered your mercy to the people of Middle Knot City but couldn’t grant you the sweet mercy of death. Gave you the gun and said you can do it yourself. Fucking hell. You begged her. Begged her to end the fucking pain. Begged on your knees like the god you really are… 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Journal skin is a modified version of the [ email windows skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7953412) by [La_Temperanza.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza) Journals will be in this skin.
> 
> The title, "gold leaf across your lips," are lyrics from Billie Eilish's "[hostage](https://open.spotify.com/track/1WsEgieHsWWndAzLkmV105)".
> 
> [[Cover Art]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/59c24cb0f8330bf1febf8412c8215195/64a30bd493b8b9ee-a2/s1280x1920/4077cd47ae9b499274ac402d6df14dd1c3710d0d.png)  
> [[Map of Higgs' Beach]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f0a6c27f8af37eb96cc1229191e6767d/bf9b1bed40ddd1f6-36/s2048x3072/950da1abe823607ba3e1385eee6151c25cc19e66.png)
> 
> Fanmixes on Spotify (Warning tags apply).  
> [[Particles - Part I]](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6a9qCYGjiIxav8PU7dicCd?si=RY9IVkUETNCL0Ci_cKuMHw)  
> [[Nihilist Abyss - Part II]](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3jaHJnrJZ95ihJ3aypCJKN?si=f9fk5ogkScWXkNODy0Ol8Q)


	2. Higgs' Journal

Title

Higgs' Journal

When

Day 10

One bullet left in the chamber. I thought about chucking it into the water, forget it ever happened. But you never know.

What am I supposed to do now? I’m a dead man walking. Just like Sammy —except he’s got Amelie, his BB doll, Fragile, Bridges. I’ve got nothing. No one. But guess it ain’t the end of the fucking world yet. I’ve got to survive somehow. Show Fragile that letting me live was a big mistake.

I’m not stranded. I’m gonna get out of here, one way or another.

  
  



	3. Heartman's Journal

Title

Beginnings

When

One week after Sam's return

Ever since Sam returned from Amelie’s Beach, there's been a new air about him. It’s as if the Sam that departed for that Beach is different from the Sam with us at present. We’ve agreed not to press him for information, which is the least we could do considering everything he has endured. Perhaps it’s only my imagination—it has been a little over a month, after all—but he seems more cognizant of the world, of the universe. No doubt this is due to his encounter with the Extinction Entity.

It is in this cognizance that he seems to have found a new purpose in life. Whatever road he chooses to take, I can only hope that it is not filled with more isolation and despair.

Recent events have led me to a similar undertaking. I must embark on a new quest, to move on with my life. The closeness with which we came to the end has made me realize that my days—humanity’s days—are numbered. I know that my wife and child would not want me to spend the rest of my life searching for them in vain.

I suppose this is the most difficult part of all. Searching for a new purpose in life...

  
  



	4. Higgs

Higgs was in the middle of sharpening his knife when he heard the telltale thud of a delivery. He made his way over, rusty lawn chair creaking under his weight. 

It was a body. 

It was a body in a white button up. No blood. Face down on black water. The sky dumped a goddamn body on his Beach. He put his knife away, walked up to it and flipped it over with his foot. Someone from Bridges—had one of those cuff links on him—pale as death and grey sky reflecting off his glasses. Higgs didn’t know if bodies necro'd on the Beach, but he wasn’t about to stick around and find out. Better loot the body fast. He didn’t need glasses, but he could use it to light a fire like they did in the movies: hold it up to the sun, aim it at one of his destroyed books and watch it burn. He could use a clean shirt too, and they were roughly the same size, except he didn’t need a belt to hold up his pants. The things he could do with that belt of his...

Glasses gasped like a fish out of water. Tar spilled from his mouth and onto his shirt before he stopped moving again. His sputtering reminded Higgs of an engine starting and stopping, breath cutting out halfway each time the key turned. 

Higgs looked at his hands. He was shaking. He started doing chest compressions—what else was he supposed to do? Stand around and wait for BTs to trigger a voidout on his Beach? He didn’t know if that could happen, all he knew was that there was no way in hell he was gonna do mouth to mouth. As he pushed down on his chest, water spilled out of the guy’s lips, little by little, until he let out a guttural cough that shot tar everywhere—straight into his eyes. Higgs fell back on his ass and screamed, trying to put the fires out by rubbing his eyes, hard. 

“Fucking hell!”  
“ _Higgs?_ I’m—I’m sorry—”  
“You better be goddamn sorry! You’re supposed to be dead!” 

He still couldn’t see shit. Next thing he knew, Glasses gripped his hands, not gentle, not hard. He tried to break free but his eyes burned so much that all he could do was swear. Felt like his eyeballs were going to burn through their sockets.

“Let go of me!“  
“Stop rubbing your eyes. You’re making it worse. Just—blink. Keep blinking,” he said.

Higgs tried to reach for his eyes still. Not like he cared about his face anyway. Glasses sounded strangely calm for someone who had just woken up on the Beach. He kept stopping him from rubbing his eyes. After blinking a thousand fucking times, the burning finally stopped. He was a blind Celidonius seeing the world for the first time: everything was blurry, the crags and rocks black splotches on the landscape, the sun filtering through the clouds in hazy pillars of gold. Glasses was kneeling in front of him, still holding his hands for some reason. 

“Do I know you?” hissed Higgs. He took his hands back and drew his knife at him.  
“I don’t know. But I’ll tell you, if you put that away.”  
“Ain’t happening, Glasses.”  
He wasn’t gonna trust someone from Bridges. What if Fragile sent him to finish the job?  
“Who the hell are you? Who sent you? And how the fuck did you end up here on _my_ Beach?”  
“Allow me to explain, Mr. Monaghan.”

Mister _Monaghan._ Smartass knew his last name too. He was either obsequious or crazy, maybe both, because once he got to his feet he offered a hand to help him up. From this angle, his eyes disappeared and all Higgs saw was the muted sun dripping off his glasses. He sheathed his knife, pushed his hand away and got up on his own.

“I’m all ears,” Higgs muttered, walking back to his Beach house. He normally wouldn’t turn his back on a stranger like that, but Glasses didn’t seem like the fighting type. Besides, he’d already made a good first impression: _fuck with me and I’ll cut you._

“They call me Heartman...Beach Scientist. I’m a researcher with Bridges,” he said.

Now Higgs knew who he was too. Heard rumours, at least, about a scientist who supposedly ‘died,’ went to the Beach, and came back to life every few minutes. Been doing it for years now. Had a heart condition or something, he didn’t know the rest. Just that Heart knew a lot about the Beach, which would explain why he was walking around like he owned the place. 

“My heart stops beating every twenty one minutes. I die on that side, wake up on the Beach, then return. The time I spend here—all down time, of course.”  
“You know, if you die here, you ain’t coming back,” he said, like an afterthought.  
“Yes. But not to worry, I won’t be here long. A few more, um, hours. At most.”  


Heart followed him into his shelter. He’s going to be stuck with this guy for a few more hours? The clock he had on the wall was busted. Not in the usual sense; since time was all sorts of fucked up on the Beach, a second wasn’t a second but was actually thirty seconds and one hour felt more like three. Then again, Higgs hasn’t sat down and seen the clock tick. He’d been moving it forward himself when it felt like a day had passed. In short, he was gonna be stuck with Heart for a long ass time.

Higgs bowed a bit, then gestured to his humble abode with both hands.

“Welcome to Casa de Higgs.”

Higgs sat down on his lawn chair and went back to sharpening his knife. It was no private room but it was his, built out of the contents of packages that would wash up on the shore or fall from perpetually cloudy skies. The cases themselves he used as other things: makeshift tables, walls, chairs, a bed and even a bookshelf. On one side was a painting-turned-corkboard where he pinned his notes, like the Sammy one he used to have in his old room. Heart seemed to like his shelf the most, craning his long neck to read their barely legible spines. He reached for one. Higgs got between him and the shelf.

“Hey, hey, hey, did you not hear what I said earlier, Heart? De Higgs. Of Higgs. Don’t touch my shit.”

The mask on Heart’s face hasn’t fallen off yet, and Higgs could see right through it. But if the rumours were true, that he was the _Beach_ Scientist, he had to play nice. Heart was his best shot at getting out of this shithole.

He grabbed his rifle off the spare bed and started wiping it down with his cloak.

“I’ve heard of you, Heart. Beach Scientist,” he said. “Your DOOMS lets you crash other people’s Beaches. Then it spits you back out.”  
“That's true. More or less.” Heart caught sight of his rifle. He swallowed hard, then stared at the clock on the wall.  
“Time stops in the Beach, but not in the Seam. I haven’t spent enough time on a singular Beach to say this with certainty. Though there’s something perplexing about this particular Beach.”

He walked over to his corkboard, looking only slightly impressed. Maybe Heart just had a resting bitch face but whatever face he wore now pissed Higgs off. He ain’t the only smart one round here. 

“What’s so perplexing about it?” Higgs asked. “Don’t they all look the same? Ocean, grey sky, tar, a shitload of sand, more sand, etcetera, etcetera?”  
Heart sat down on the bed Higgs so graciously cleared for him.  
“Well, for one, I’ve never been to a Beach that receives packages. And this is the first time I’ve woken up because someone resuscitated me. Speaking of which...you saved my life, Mr. Monaghan.”  
“ _Higgs_ ,” he hissed. “Mr. Monaghan was my—forget it. Don’t make me regret saving your ass...”  
“That’s the other thing that’s been puzzling me.”  
“Your ass?”  
“You saved me. Why? Because it appears I’m...stuck here. With you. At least, for the time being.”

Higgs took out his knife and pointed it at him. He saved him because he didn’t want him to necro. End of story. 

“Let me make one thing clear, Heart. I didn’t save your ass because of some altruistic, it’s the right-thing-to-do bullshit,” he walked over to him. Heart stood up from the bed and looked him right in the eye. His eyes were mad blue, bluer than the cuff round his lanky arm. “I don’t need you. I’m doing fine on my own.”

He placed the tip of his knife right over his heart, then pressed down ever so slightly. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t plunge this straight into your heart right now.”  
If Heart was scared, he didn’t show it.  
“You need me,” he remarked. “If you knew how to escape, you would’ve done so by now.”  
“Okay, smartass,” he put his knife away. “You know this place like the back of your hand, right? So be a good little Beach scientist and find a way out of here before I lose my patience. And my sanity.”

He walked over to his clock and jabbed it a couple of times with the barrel of his gun. “Doesn’t take a scientist to know that time doesn’t pass on this shithole. So I’ve made up my own system. We’re in Higgs Standard Time. And don’t bother asking how it works, because I ain’t telling ya.”

Hell, even _he_ didn’t know how it worked. Yet. He tried doing it by the number of dead whales or packages that washed ashore, or whenever the cryptobiotes came out of their hives, but everything was arbitrary, and nothing made sense. He wasn’t about to tell Heart any of that. He had to at least act like he knew what he was doing. 

“Thirty days,” he stated.  
“I’m giving you thirty days to get me the fuck out of here. If you don’t, it’s game over. And it won’t be a heart attack that’s gon’kill you,” he teased. “Sound like fun?”  
“You and I have very different definitions of the word, _fun,_ ” Heart muttered, more to himself than to him.  


Higgs smirked. He plopped down on his lawn chair then closed his eyes, hugging his rifle like a pillow.


	5. Heartman's Journal

Title

Higgs Monaghan

When

Day 1

It appears that one of my fears has become reality. I’m stranded on a Beach that is not my family’s, and the owner of said Beach is none other than Higgs Monaghan. Former leader of the Homo Demens. The man I owe my life to.

I’ve anticipated the possibility of becoming stranded. I posit that I am still dead, as it were, on the side of the living. For how long, I don’t know. I must conduct more research as to why I am stuck here, of all Beaches. I surmise this has some connection to Sam’s return. Or the universe simply has a twisted sense of humour.

Thus far, Higgs has ceased hostilities towards me. I suspect this is all part of his scheme. He insists that he didn’t save me for altruistic reasons, but I remain skeptical. He possesses the means to kill me quite easily, but has chosen not to—at least for the time being.

If I am to make it out of this Beach alive, I must get on his good side. If such a side of him still exists. 

  
  



	6. Higgs' Journal

Title

Higgs' Journal

When

Day 12

Heartman. Where to begin? DOOMS. Heart condition. Beach Scientist. Smartass.

Impression I get is that he’s a loner too, but at least Sammy Boy kept his pretty mouth shut. Heart talks as if all the Beach’s a stage and we’re the only players. Likes the sound of his voice too goddamn much.

I know his modus operandi. He thinks if he’s all polite and shit, I’ll change. I’ll stop trying to be the herald of the new world, turn over a new leaf. People like that piss me off. Everyone thinks they’re doing right by the world, trying to save the unsavable. Well, guess what—I was damned from the start. Ain’t no point in trying to change who I am. Ending’s already been written.

I was starting to like keeping to myself, but I gotta play nice. He’s still my best bet out of here.

  
  



	7. Heartman

Heartman explored the architectural feat that was _Casa de Higgs._ The place that was to be his prison. Or his home, if he played his cards right. 

It was a small space, about the size of two private rooms, the walls composed of stacked packages with varying degrees of damage. Some retained their silver sheen, barely touched by timefall while others had taken on the appearance of bricks, weatherworn and rust ridden. On one wall was a canvas where Higgs displayed all his handwritten notes. Beneath it, a table where he kept his personal effects: fractured cryptobiote jars in different shapes and sizes, his gloves, bulletproof vest, and a magazine clip, which Heartman presumed was empty if it wasn’t attached to his rifle. 

Heartman grabbed one of the cryptobiote jars and headed outside. 

The rocks were adorned with gold framed paintings, hung pell-mell on whatever hook-like prominence Higgs had found. The portraits were particularly striking, paint dripping from their faces like tar on a BT. It seemed they shared the same taste in the macabre, a discovery that Heartman wasn’t particularly fond of. As far as he was concerned, they were nothing alike. 

On the way to a coral hive, he passed by a particularly well-kept painting which had a rock of its own. It was a Baroque portrait, a _vanitas_ by the looks of it, of an aristocratic man in his forties. A veneer of rust stained his face, melding with the stubble on his chin and turning the dark hairs into ants; tiny things that crawled over the man’s pale skin. The distress wasn’t intentional; the impasto was beginning to part from the canvas. Remnants of the man’s blue eyes stared back at him. His left hand curled around a skull,—a deathgrip—spatulate fingers ready to crush the bone beneath. 

Heartman reached one of the cryptobiote hives. Deftly, he plucked the small creatures from the air and deposited them into the jar. Then he held it up to the sun, watching the organisms swimming inside. Trapped yet content in their new glass world. He had studied them before and knew they possessed a rudimentary fight-or-flight mechanism. Cryptobiotes were easy to store in containers because, once captured, they made no attempts at escape. He slipped his hand in, grabbed one and popped it into his mouth. If he used his imagination, it tasted a bit like a cocktail, cough syrup with bits of fruit mixed in. 

As he walked back to Higgs’ shelter, he thought about his current predicament. It appeared that his cycle of sixty deaths and rebirths per day didn’t carry over to the Beach. However, the dread that he could suddenly go into cardiac arrest remained, exacerbated by his inability to anticipate the exact time of his death. Higgs was right—if he died here, there was no coming back. It pained him to admit it, but he needed Higgs as much as Higgs needed him. If the self-proclaimed god ever found out about this sentiment, he would never hear the end of it. 

If Heartman were to be completely honest with himself, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to get out of this place.

He found Higgs still asleep on his lawn chair. He had lost his grip on his rifle and part of the barrel was buried in the sand. Maintaining his distance, Heartman set the cryptobiote jar down and knelt so that he was level with him. Higgs’ hood was over his eyes and he could’ve easily mistaken him for the grim reaper, if he didn’t have his glasses on.

“Higgs,” he whispered, but at a volume that could still rouse him.  
The man snort-snored and shifted in his chair.  
“... _Higgs._ ”  
A harsh, guttural creak—then a knife at his throat. He fell back onto the sand, startled.  
“Get BENT!” Higgs yelled, breathing hard. After gaining his bearings, he scrunched his tattooed brows at him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  
“H—Higgs. It’s me. I’m sorry to disturb you,” he answered. He grabbed the jar off the floor quickly, then handed it to him. “I was on my way out, so I took the liberty to fill this up for you.”

“Real funny, Heart. But you ain’t my type.” 

What on earth made him say such a thing? He had a half a mind to quip _neither are you mine_ , but that would mean he _cared_ about being his type, when he truly didn’t.

“That’s the second time I’ve seen you on your knees. Now I know I'm a god and all but if you really want to get on my good side,”—Higgs swiped the jar off his hands then walked past him—“Offerings are a good place to start.”  
He didn’t even thank him as he grabbed a handful of cryptobiotes and shoved them into his mouth. Heartman wondered how he managed to survive this long, not knowing how to ration his resources.  
“I’m fucking starving,” Higgs muttered, as he emptied the rest of the jar.

Heartman stood up from the sand and helped himself to a single cryptobiote from a different jar. Then he returned to his bed. Above him, the ceiling cloth undulated in the wind like waves. Higgs had stitched multiple pieces of cloth together to form one patchwork quilt, pockmarked with slits here and there. The cuts had the clinical straightness of an incision, which unnerved Heartman all the more.

Higgs crossed the room, over to another destroyed painting on the wall. He had carved an outline of a body on it with crosshairs running down the midline. The forehead had sustained the most damage. He stood a few feet away, juggled his knife a few times, then swiftly threw it at the target. It struck the painting’s shoulder with a blunt thud. 

“That man. On the painting outside,” Heartman began. A bit of small talk wouldn’t kill him, he hoped. “Someone you know...?”  
“None of your damn business,” Higgs muttered. He threw his knife again. At the neck this time.  
“It’s a vanitas portrait. A popular genre of painting in the Netherlands in the early 17th century. A majority of them are still lifes, but some of them feature individuals like the one you’ve acquired. They’re rife with symbolism. Jewelry, silverware, and golden objects symbolize vanity. Books and musical instruments represent earthly pleasures.” 

Higgs said nothing, which told Heartman that he might’ve cared for he had to say. The sound of his knife puncturing the board sounded off at intervals. 

“The skull is a common archetype of the vanitas,” he continued. “It symbolizes the inevitability of death. Clocks, burning candles, wilting flowers. Symbols which remind the viewer of the ephemerality of life. Memento mori.”  
“Remember that you will die.” Higgs finished. He turned to him, grinning as he spun the knife around his finger.  
Heartman gave a thumbs up, prompting the other man to scoff before resuming his game. After a beat, Heartman got up from the bed and approached him.  
“Considering your fascination with death, it’s only fitting that you’d be drawn to the portrait.”  
“You don’t know shit about me,” he grumbled. “I’m not drawn to anything or anyone. I dunno what intel Bridges has been feeding you, but don’t act like you know who the fuck I am.”

Heartman thought of telling him what he did know, everything from his own personal research to what Fragile had told him, out of spite. The god was more than capable of assisting him with the matter of escaping the Beach. Though he supposed it was more productive to play knife darts for all eternity...

“If we are to escape this place, it’s imperative that we work together,” Heartman offered. “And if we are to work together efficiently, we need to be aware of each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”  
“Like hell we do,” the gaze he shot him was sharper than his knife. “Besides, already know what yours are. You’re easy. Not like”—another knife toss, forehead this time—"Goddamn Sam."  
He yanked the knife out with a loud grunt.  
“What _do_ you know about me, Mr. Monaghan?”  
Higgs swore under his breath. He seemed to detest the name, and he made note of it.  
“I’ve only been with you for, hell, a day? And you’re already a pain in my ass. When you’re on the side of the livin’, you’re only there for twenty-one minutes at a time. Means there’s a period when you ain’t talking because you’re dead,” he swung and struck the target’s chest. “Time doesn’t pass here, so fuck me. ‘Cause I’m stuck listenin’ to your dry ass explanations.”

Despite his outward indifference, Higgs had been paying attention.

“My heart stops beating every twenty-one minutes, but I’m dead—here, on the Beach—for three minutes. Afterwards, my defibrillator is set to administer a shock that prompts my heart to beat again. Sixty deaths, sixty rebirths per day.”  
Higgs looked him up and down, though Heartman surmised he wasn’t searching for his missing defibrillator.  
“Whatever. Next time you die, I ain’t saving you.”  
“Fair enough,” said Heartman. “But if there’s one theory I’m certain of, it’s that you have some altruism left within you.”  
He pulled the knife out of the board’s chest and raised a brow at him.  
“That right, Hearty Boy?” Higgs hissed. He circled around him the way beasts did their prey, sizing him up, eyeing every weak point on his body. Heartman instinctively clutched his chest, and the man smirked.

He had given it away. But isn’t everyone vulnerable at the heart?

“Bless your _heart_ ,” he said. “Folks like you are so damn predictable. All hidin’ behind the same mask. But ‘false face must hide what the false heart doth know.’”  
Heartman didn’t know whether to be more intimidated or impressed. Higgs leaned closer to his face, and he felt something warm and wet swipe across his cheek. His tongue.

“I know what an altruist tastes like, Heart. And you ain’t one.”

Higgs clapped him on the shoulder then sauntered back to his chair. Heartman walked back to his bed. He unraveled the words in his mind, what they meant, if they were true, what he could’ve said back. The spot where Higgs had licked him grew ice cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Vanitas art on Britannica]](https://www.britannica.com/art/vanitas-art)  
> The line, "...false face must hide what the false heart doth know," is from Shakespeare's [Macbeth.](https://www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/macbeth/page_46/)
> 
> [[A short comic I drew for this fic]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6310c2e274453db5bc62f2ea9e3545db/424b6308178ebc4c-7d/s2048x3072/06de272493a987e9ee16454ccba4a307c0b2b186.png) / [[full panels]](https://eurydia.tumblr.com/post/626397933305200640/full-panels-from-this-comic)


	8. Higgs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that this chapter delves a bit into Higgs' childhood, so the warning tag of _Implied/Referenced Abuse_ is explored.

Every day, Higgs woke up and wished that the world would end in his sleep. That he’d wake up on the other side and there wouldn’t be a single mountain, grain of sand, or ocean in sight, the landscape as white and empty as a voidout. A new world with a new sky. 

He trudged over to the clock, moving them forward in time. Day number two for Heart. Day twelve for him. He went outside. He saw mountains—fucking mountains. A grey sky with the same clouds rolling over the same grey sand. The ocean he’d skipped god knows how many pebbles across. Dead whales that made the whole place stink to high heaven. He didn’t think there was a god up there, but if there were, daddy would be with them. 

_Now you understand my fucking pain,_ he’d say.

His Beach didn’t get much timefall, but every now and then a drop would find its way to his face. Daddy’s tears. Or his spit. 

He faced him. His saint of a daddy. He stared at the chipping paint on his cheeks. Made sure to stand up straight, look him right in his pale blue eyes. The place grew so still he could hear his own heartbeat, a hollow thud that tunneled through his ears. Or maybe it wasn’t his but his old man’s heart, buried somewhere beneath the sand and the sea. 

“We’ve got a visitor, daddy. Don’t remember ordering a smart—“ he caught himself. “Scientist, but Bridges delivered one. Free of charge. He’s gonna get us out of here.”  
Higgs brushed his hand along the golden frame and said, “I’m gonna make you real proud.”

He went to the lake where he had fought Sam. The Armpit. He called it that because most of the dead whales ended up there. Ever since that day, his Beach had been oddly quiet, save for the intermittent crash of a falling package. Tar and whales didn’t float into the sky anymore. He didn’t think much of it at first, but he figured it was Amelie’s fault. She gave him his powers and took it away. Just like that. No powers meant no BTs—no BTs meant no tar. No crumbling buildings to climb. No way out.

He walked to the water’s edge. Dipped his foot in as if he was going to go for a swim, but today he wasn’t in the mood. Instead, he shut his eyes and held out his hand. Took a deep breath. In his mind’s eye, black pyramids rose from the ground, peaks blazing silver in the light. Statues of pharaohs, dark as shadows, towered over him. His BT boys stood up from the pit, one by one, until there was a whole army of them. 

“Give me power.”

It was not a request but an incantation. A command. He spoke each syllable carefully and ceremoniously, as if he were reading a spell off the Book of the Dead. He thought of Heka, the Egyptian deity who gave the soul its power and awakened the _ka._ A god who knew equal parts creation and destruction, death and life. It was Heka who gave the deities Sia and Hu—the heart and tongue—their power. 

Amelie might’ve given him power, but he had made it his own. It was his—like this Beach and everything in it. 

“Give. Me. Power,” he chanted.  
But there was nothing.  
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Give me POWER—!” he reached with both hands and fell to his knees. The Beach grew out of focus; the kohl around his eyes stained his tears black. He punched the sand until there were fist-shaped holes in front of him.  
Nothing.  
Nothing.  
Nothing

To hell with it. He knew none of this was his fault, but that nagging part of his psyche told him otherwise. _You goddamn fool,_ it went. _You’re fucked six ways from Sunday and it’s all your fault._ Blame Amelie and Fragile all he wanted, but it was Higgs who fucked Higgs over. That was his daddy’s real parting gift to him. Not his sixth sense, wise cracks, or mean right hook—but this pain. This fucking pain. 

Higgs filled his flask with lake water then headed home.

When he got back to the shelter, he found Heart standing in front of his board, hands on his hips. A little sway in his step. If Higgs didn’t know any better, he’d assume Heart swung that way too, but he didn’t really give a damn because annoying smartasses weren’t his type. The thought made him laugh, and Heart spun around, surprised that the only other person in this hellhole was behind him. 

“Oh—Higgs. I didn’t hear you come in,” he took a step back, crashing into the board and fucking up all his paperwork. Pages drifted into the air like biotes. Heart frantically tried to catch them before Higgs shoved him back. 

“Fucking hell, Heart! You know how long this took me!?”  
“My apologies,” he replied. “But, technically, it wouldn’t have taken you long because time doesn’t pass—“  
“Shut up!” Higgs screamed, grabbing the papers off his hands. 

He was about to pin them back on, but it wasn’t his writing. All cursive and shit. Took him a good minute to decipher what Heart had written; something about BTs and the Stranding. His name came up a few times, and he had to admit he liked how it looked in his hand, sometimes underlined, other times bold—Higgs Monaghan—like he was someone important. Throw in _Particle of God that Permeates All Existence_ and it’d be right as rain.

“It’s a theory. The bones of a theory,” Heart explained. “In order to construct the whole skeleton, I’ll need your help. Particularly, the help of your DOOMS abilities. You may not be a scientist, but it’s apparent that you’ve acquired some knowledge of this place. I like to keep busy, as do you, so I’ve compared our notes while you were away. I hope you don’t mind.”

Higgs noticed that the board had been rearranged, the papers straightened and separated into two sides by a strip of damage sensor tape. Day two and the guy was already acting like a motherfucker: eating his food, touching his stuff, bossing him around. If he wasn’t a Beach Scientist, Higgs would’ve killed him by now. He grabbed his knife, ripped the tape off the board, then used the pieces to tape his notes over Heart’s. 

“It’s not as extensive as my body of knowledge but useful, nonetheless,” Heart went on. “I never expected your notes to be so meticulous—the legible ones, that is—and I must say I’m impressed.”  
“I know how to take notes, smartass,” he muttered.  
“If we put our brilliant brains together, the process of escaping this Beach could continue apace.”

Higgs let out an unconvinced grunt. Flattery wasn’t gonna cut it. What was next, family game nights? Sure, he liked having someone who kissed ass—for a couple of hours. Now he was bored and hungry and his patience was wearing thin. He looked at his jars and saw that most of them were empty. Goddamn Heart.

“No, no, no, no! This ain’t a group project,” Higgs pushed past him to check on the jars. “Get that through your thick skull before I do it for ya.”

Heart took a step back, not colliding into anything that time. “May I, at the very least, inquire about your abilities?”

Smartass thought he still had powers. Could be useful, to let him keep thinking that. Whenever he would get annoyed he could fuck with him, pretend he was calling his BTs to take him away. Bye-bye Heart. 

“That is if you still—“  
“I still have my powers,” he shot. “Don’t make me use ‘em.”  
Heart gave a thumbs up and left it at that.

Higgs grabbed an empty jar off the table and dragged one of his ‘floating’ carriers behind him. Since he couldn’t do shit, he was stuck dragging everything: packages, his own two feet, the weight of it all. He felt tired all the time. His whole body hurt like hell and he hated having to walk everywhere. Maybe the pain his daddy was always going on about was just that—getting old. 

“...I’ve seen the [map](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f0a6c27f8af37eb96cc1229191e6767d/bf9b1bed40ddd1f6-36/s2048x3072/950da1abe823607ba3e1385eee6151c25cc19e66.png) you have up.” Heart caught up to him. “The names of some landmarks are quite, um, vulgar, but the topographical accuracy appears to be…”

He went on and on, following him around like a lost puppy. Least he made himself useful by bringing a jar with him. Higgs had zoned out and didn’t even know what he was on about. Something about his map. To the north—or what he’d defined as north—was the Armpit. East was the ocean that bordered the whole place. South was the dropzone, where a bulk of his packages came from. To the west was the Valley of Kings, a long strip of sand dotted with rocks and whales. If Higgs squinted, he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. Almost dead center was the Great Pyramid, where Daddy was buried.

He walked to the dropzone, picking up stray packages along the way. Heart fell into step beside him, holding his empty jar close to his chest like a BB doll. There won’t be another hive in miles. 

“You had a death mask.” Heart said. Not even a minute of silence and he already broke it. “A golden one. Made of chiralium, I presume? You used it to control—“  
“It ain’t a death mask,” he corrected. “It’s for living. Ruling.”  
“Ruling over what, exactly?”  
“BTs. This fucking Beach. The UCA,” Higgs formed a gun with his fingers and shot him with it. “ _You._ ”  
The lump in Heart’s throat bobbed up and down.  
“W-was it not modeled after the funerary masks of the ancient Egyptians? Like your kohl and hood?”  
He got the name right—kohl. Higgs tried to look unimpressed by focusing on a package he’d found.  
“Yep.” He threw the case into his pile. Whatever was inside sounded broken already. “But I’m still alive, so doesn’t make it a death mask. If you’d done your research, you’d know it was a sign of the wearer’s prestige. _Power._ ” Quietly, he added, “And it hid their face.”

Up ahead, a giant ass whale blocked his old route to the dropzone. Higgs took a good look at it. Wasn’t as decayed as the others, but the smell. The fucking smell. Been twelve days and he still hasn’t gotten used to it. Felt like getting sacked in the face with a body bag that reeked of death and piss. Clawed its way into his nose and down his throat.

Higgs buried his knife in it. Deep. The blade was sharp enough to dig through the outermost layer with ease, like cutting through a freshly grilled steak. Looked like one too—medium rare—but he’d sooner fuck a dead whale than eat one. He sawed into its dark, rubbery belly until he had a swath of blubber. Sinewy and wine red in one layer, then all white at the core.

Heart was crouched near the rear of the whale. He pinched his nose, making his voice sound more annoying than usual. “This is a blue whale. _Balaenoptera musculus,_ judging by the size of the fluke.”  
“The fuck’s a fluke?”  
“It’s what the tail fin of a whale is referred to. The fluke.”  
He knew that.  
“You gonna sit there and tell me the history of this here _Balaenoptera musculus_ or you gonna make yourself useful for once by helpin’ me,”—he grabbed a piece of blubber and pulled—“skin this fucking thing!?”  
Heart hesitated for a bit before finally grabbing the other side. For several minutes, no words were spoken between them, just heaving and groaning punctuated by the tearing of whale flesh, which sounded like separating immense pieces of velcro.

“Remind me again why we’re skinning a dead whale?” Heart asked, between heaves. “Is this...have you been...using these as...sustenance?”  
Higgs would’ve punched him if his hands weren’t full.  
“Hell no! I’ve got standards, Heart.”  
“Well, you do seem to enjoy feasting on cryptobiotes. You know, Fragile—”  
He grabbed a fistful of Heart’s shirt.  
“Don’t say that name. Don’t ever say it,” his voice was harsh and visceral, the words coming from the back of his throat. “If I ever hear you say that name again, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”  
“I’m...I’m sorry,” Heart whispered.

There was actual sympathy in his eyes, as if he’d just delivered bad news. Not like Fragile was dead—or was she? The question materialized in his mind but stayed there. He turned around quickly. So what if she was? Payback’s a bitch and so was she. As long as she didn’t end up here, it was fine by him. Fine by him...

Higgs went up to the whale’s mouth. The teeth weren’t like teeth at all, but long sticks that tapered off into fine, hairlike bristles. Soft enough to run his fingers through. He closed his eyes and trailed his fingers along its length. 

Then he skinned the rest of the whale in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Map of "Higgs'" Beach]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f0a6c27f8af37eb96cc1229191e6767d/bf9b1bed40ddd1f6-36/s2048x3072/950da1abe823607ba3e1385eee6151c25cc19e66.png)   
>  [["particles" - Fanmix for the fic]](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6a9qCYGjiIxav8PU7dicCd?si=vtVJYmAsTe-ArbXsutCSog)
> 
> [[Heka - Ancient History Encyclopedia]](https://www.ancient.eu/Heka/)


	9. Heartman

Heartman dragged the carrier behind him, alone. He stopped to stare at the line it had drawn on the sand, a deep tunnel that disappeared into a prosaic landscape. It wasn’t long before Higgs hurled more insults at him, forcing him to press on.

It was laborious and humiliating, being treated like his beast of burden; subjected to unpredictable outbursts of verbal—and physical—abuse. Most maddening of all was his insistence that he was not merely Higgs Monaghan, but the ‘particle of god which permeates all existence’. It didn’t take a _Homo religiosus_ to know that Higgs was not a god—not any longer. The Beach had stripped him of his godliness and all that was left was a self-centered, fatalistic, insolent man, bored out of his mind and in dire need of a worshiper. And Heartman had no desire to become one. 

He thought to ask why he was bringing back suitcases of blubber if Higgs wasn’t going to consume them. But he must give credit where it was due: the man was cleverer than he looked. Surely the packages served some purpose. 

Once they returned to the shelter, Higgs instructed him to fetch a baleen plate from one of the cases. The pieces were, to Heartman’s surprise, not crudely extracted from the animal; care was taken so as to preserve the gums, plate, and hairs. He procured the best specimen and offered it to Higgs. The man smirked and raised a finger for him to wait.

He sat down on his lawn chair, legs spread open, feet propped up on a suitcase. With the smirk still on his face, he beckoned him over.

“Clean my boots,” he ordered, pointing at the baleen with his stubbled chin.  
“Higgs, I don’t see how this will be beneficial to—”  
“Did I fucking stutter?"

Heartman knelt in front of him and did as he was told. He gripped the brush so tightly his knuckles turned white. The creaking of Higgs’ lawn chair and the baleen grazing against his boots filled the silence. 

The boots were made of timefall resistant rubber, well-worn but free from scratches and holes. Its soles were caked in tar and sand, the color now a powdery grey. Heartman focused on a spot on the toe, grating the baleen over and over in a futile attempt to lift off the grime. Every once in a while, he glanced up at Higgs, whose face was buried deep in his journal. He wrote in it incessantly, about what or whom, he could only imagine. 

“It seems we have at least one thing in common.”  
The man continued to write, not uttering a word. Heartman kept brushing, hoping Higgs would, at some point, cease writing long enough for him to sneak a question in. Alas, he wrote on.

In order to devise a proper escape plan, he needed more information. Utilizing Higgs’ abilities seemed out of the question. Aside from himself, the only individuals he knew were capable of traveling to and from the Beach were Fragile, Sam, and Amelie, though he was not too keen in getting them involved in his predicament. Presently, he longed to know what happened the day Higgs lost his powers. 

Heartman stopped brushing to inspect the boots. They appeared cleaner than before, but were still marred with tar stains. He couldn’t differentiate between the permanent or non permanent ones, so he had no choice but to brush over them all. As he leaned closer, a bead of spit landed squarely on his cheek.

“Oops!” Higgs chuckled. “I missed.”

Heartman didn’t look up as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. He wasn’t certain what irritated him more: the fact that the man used saliva to clean his shoes, how barely concealed the lie had been, or that, for all the time he spent practicing his aim, he still couldn’t hit a target that was mere inches away. 

Though he considered himself unwaveringly patient, he couldn’t fathom the idea of being Higgs’ servant for all eternity. He must defend himself, to assert some small measure of superiority; if not physical, then intellectual. He was aware of his own weaknesses and would likely be no good at fisticuffs. Verbal intercourse, however, was something he had always excelled in.

As Heartman cleaned, he heard Higgs muttering to himself. Though he couldn’t make out most of the words, his voice sounded calm, almost melancholy. He caught him murmur Fragile’s name under his breath. 

“I thought you weren’t drawn to anyone.” Heartman mused, at length. 

Higgs slammed his journal shut.

“I ain’t drawn to you, if that’s what you’re tryin’ to say.”  
“I was...referring to her.”  
“I told you what would happen if—”  
“You said not to speak her name, which I did not.” Heartman corrected. “I’d like to know what transpired between the two of you. The day you became stranded here.”  
“I ain’t stranded, smartass!” he yelled. Another flurry of spit came his way, albeit unintentionally.  
“ _Nothing._ Nothing happened, and even if something did, why would I fucking tell you?” He opened his journal to resume writing but suddenly closed it again. “You want intel so badly? Fine. I’ll give it to you.  
“We were business partners. We decided to do business with each other, then we decided to _do_ each other's business. She liked being on top. But you wouldn’t know anything about that shit because you’ve never been laid your whole goddamn life.”

Heartman looked down, pretending to scrutinize a spot of dirt to conceal his eye roll. 

“We made a pretty good team. With her DOOMS and mine, we could’ve reshaped this fucked up world. Put its shattered pieces back together. But she had her limits, and I had mine. You know who didn’t?” Higgs asked, leaning forward.

“The one true savior. The extinction entity.”

There was malice in his words, as if uttering them had left a bad taste in his mouth. Heartman held his gaze, expressionless. He knew that Amelie Strand was the extinction entity—Sam had confirmed the knowledge upon his return.

“You say that as if you knew her personally,” Heartman observed.  
“And what if I did?”  
Higgs leaned over to lick him, but Heartman recoiled without a second thought. Seeing as he was now out of reach, the man settled with sniffing him.  
“He hasn’t told ya. Not everything,” he said, as if his smell gave it away.  
Heartman cleared his throat and went back to brushing. Still feeling a bit slighted, he added, “I’ll have you know I am—was—married. And I had a child.”  
“You? A daddy?” Higgs raised his dirty toe up to Heartman’s chin, forcing him to look up again. “Love makes you do stupid things, eh?  
“Let me guess. She left you for someone else and took the kid with her? No no no, she left you _and_ the kid because she couldn’t fucking stand you anymore?”  
“They died.” He drew his chin away and resumed brushing, more forcefully. “In a voidout. It’s why I became a researcher. To search for them here. On the Beach.”  
“Ooooh! A _voidout!_ ” Higgs attempted to mimic his accent. “I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt after hearing such dreadful news. Do you think _I_ killed them?”  
“I never—I’m not insinuating—”  
“Cut the bullshit!”

Heartman felt his boot collide with his chest. He fell back, sinking into the sand as if weighed down by stone. He could hardly breathe as the man drilled his heel into him.  
“You fucking liar. I know in your heart of hearts that you’re gonna ditch me the first chance you get. Now, I’ve seen the way you look at me. It ain’t just fear. It’s anger. _Hate._ ”  
“I’ve been...nothing but truthful to you,” Heartman breathed. “I am a man of my word. You saved me, and I intend to...repay you.” 

The stone was finally taken off his chest. Higgs lifted him off the ground by his collar, groaning with the effort. 

As soon as Heartman got to his feet, he found himself pulled into an embrace. Every cell in his body tensed at the touch. It was evident that Higgs hadn’t held someone in quite some time, his hands roaming his back in a way that was at once awkward and affectionate, never lingering in one spot for long. The man eventually pulled back and squeezed his shoulders, and Heartman felt relieved, given the plausible alternative of being stabbed.

“Think you can just do everything I tell you to the fucking letter, kiss my ass, wash my feet, and that’ll be enough? Then you’ll get your reward?” Higgs asked, his hands lingering on his shoulders. “Ain’t how this works. You still have to do whatever I say, because I’ll kill you if you don’t. But if you want to repay me, you’ll have to _save_ me. My life for your life. A fair exchange.”  
Higgs walked backwards from him.  
“Twenty-eight days, Heart. Twenty-eight days,” he repeated, then sat back down on his lawn chair-throne. Afterwards, he motioned for him to resume the menial task of brushing his already-clean boots.

Heartman held his tongue. He ignored the pain in his chest as he brushed the same boot that had inflicted it.  
“You’re killin’ me here, Hearty boy! I’ve seen BTs move faster than you!” Higgs whined.  
“I would _work_ faster,” he muttered. “If I wasn’t subject to verbal and physical abuse, not to mention inane assumptions about my virility…”  
Higgs grabbed his face. “I don’t want to hear another complaint out of your fucking mouth, because let me remind you that I ain’t your boss. I am your _god_. You wanna know what my daddy used to say whenever he heard a complaint come out of my mouth?” he asked, baring his teeth. “‘I gave you life and I can take it away whenever the hell I want.”

Higgs flipped open the case he’d been using as a footrest. Inside was a pile of whale innards. 

He grinned, then dug his boots into it.

“C’mon, Heart! These boots ain’t gonna clean themselves!”


	10. Higgs' Journal

Title

Higgs' Journal

When

Day 12

Can’t believe goddamn Heartman used to be married. Had a kid for godssakes. Someone actually saw that pathetic face of his and said “I’m gonna marry ‘em.” Heart condition and all. Guess that’s love. Makes you do stupid things. I was never into that sentimental bullshit, but Fragile was.

Never told her why I betrayed her. I was fucking pissed that she had to ask. I treated her like a goddess, but when I asked to be treated like a god, she called bullshit. Said I wasn’t being ‘fair.’

You know what ain’t fair, honey? Leaving me all alone to die here. It ain’t fair. It ain’t fucking fair...

  
  



	11. Heartman's Journal

Title

Eternal Recurrence

When

Day 2

Friedrich Nietzsche was a philosopher famously associated with the concept of nihilism. But among his other influential ideas is that of ‘eternal recurrence.’ Nietzsche encapsulated the concept in a brief yet profound statement: "This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more."

Nietzsche might’ve first encountered the concept in the writings of Heinrich Heine. The latter wrote that time may be infinite, but the “concrete bodies” within are finite. Even the smallest of particles and atoms are determinate, bound to repeat in what he referred to as an “eternal play of repetition.” The chances of a world exactly like our own coming into being is nonzero. And if space and time are infinite, it follows that our existence must recur an infinite number of times forevermore. In this so-called play, “all configurations which have previously existed on this earth must yet meet, attract, repulse, kiss, and corrupt each other again.” Such is the concept of eternal recurrence.

Eternal recurrence is not a novel idea, of course. In ancient Egypt, for example, the scarab was seen as the symbol of the cyclical nature of life, resurrection and rebirth. In Nietzsche writing, this theory is posited to the reader by a demon. One who visits the reader in their loneliest loneliness and asks: what shall they do, if they were to discover that the life they’ve lived now were to recur, in the same sequence, for all eternity? If every pain and joy were to return as if it were the first time?

They are then given a choice. Shall they loathe the demon for saying such things, or shall they worship them for bringing about an epiphany? Frankly, I would do both.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Eternal return/eternal recurrence on Wiki]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eternal_return)   
>  [[Live Heavy: A Guide to Nietzsche's Eternal Return]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKnaTyJc0po&ab_channel=Sisyphus55)


	12. Heartman

To the northeast, perched on a moss-covered cliff face and partitioned off by towering Gray whales, was Heartman’s shelter.

It was far from elaborate, made of sticks and torn cloth he had gathered from deliveries. But it served its purpose: it was a haven from Higgs. Where he was free to plan, build, and read without fearing for his life. He sat on a tarp on the sand, ruined but still legible book curled in his lap. Before him, an uninterrupted view of a monochromatic shoreline, the horizon nonexistent as sky and sea merged into a solitary strip of fog. The sands took on the color of asphalt, giving the black beached whales the appearance of inanimate hills rather than marine lifeforms. As he looked out into the sea, he still found himself searching the gray for any signs of life. For the lost figures of a mother and child.

Heartman reached into his pocket and felt for his wedding band. His ring and cufflink always came with him to the Beach. He rubbed the band between his thumb and forefinger, letting the sun streak across the gold before returning it to his pocket. He was no stranger to solitude. But the dreariness of the place, the way his days began to bleed into one, was enough to drive anyone mad. The thought that this eternal play was no different from his life outside of the Beach was particularly disheartening to him. Everywhere he went, death shadowed him; if not in the form of a heart-shaped heart, then of a man clad in gold and black. 

He set aside his book, reaching for the jar he kept beside him: a single cryptobiote that had become his hourglass of sorts. It was Fragile who taught him the value of the little creatures, how they may one day hold the key to understanding the Beach and the Death Stranding. Their namesake originated from the process of _Cryptobiosis,_ or “hidden life.” When threatened by adverse conditions, they could enter a dormant state, halting all metabolic processes—development, reproduction, defecation—until the environment became hospitable once more. Most fascinating of all was their ability to inhabit both the Beach and the world of the living. 

The parallels to his own life were not lost on him. How useful it would’ve been, to enter a dormant state at will! He had no control over his life cycle, no means with which to pause his life on his own accord. Despite the creatures’ ties to the Beach, they could undergo a complete cycle. Heartman didn’t know how many days equated to one cryptobiote cycle, but that would be a study for another day. 

Heartman placed the jar back in its usual spot then grabbed an empty suitcase nearby. He walked a few feet away from his shelter, to a mound of Belugas, whose silver bodies contrasted with the ebony sands. They were smaller than their Blue and Gray counterparts and oftentimes he found them in pairs; the sight of them always tugged at his heartstrings. Beside one whale, partly buried in the sand, was the rounded corner of a suitcase. Heartman knelt and carefully uncovered it.

Composed of suitcases and held together by tape, was his nearly finished raft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Beluga whales on Wiki]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beluga_whale)


	13. Higgs

No man is an island. 

His buddy told him once—rest his soul,—when they were out making deliveries in the middle of nowhere. Famous last words. A few days later, the guy went to deliver a package all by himself. Higgs remembered that day being foggy as hell, but the crazy sonofabitch still headed out alone. Said the delivery couldn’t wait.

Somewhere along that trail, in the dense fog of the mountains, the BTs came for him. And his buddy decided to do the one thing Higgs will always hate him for.

He called him for help.

Higgs threw all his playing cards on the table. Couldn’t play poker by himself, so he was stuck playing solitaire for the rest of his life. Guess he should be grateful, because the delivery gods took pity on him and gave him something that was intact for once.

He sat at one end of the table, shuffling the cards. Across from him was an unoccupied chair. As he stared at it, he realized how foolish it was, not the fact that he’d built that one chair but a whole lot of them. Built a whole damn shelter, case by case, pretending he was living in a beach house at the end of the world.

Amelie. Sweet, sweet Amelie. He remembered Heart asking him if he knew her personally, and he got that confused look in his eyes that told him everything. Smartass didn’t know Amelie gave him his powers. To Heart’s four eyes, she was still the benevolent EE, someone he looked up to and respected.

It filled Higgs with preemptive pride to be the one to break his little heart someday. 

Higgs flipped open his suitcase of drinks, which weren’t really drinks but jars of whale oil he’d collected. He wouldn’t go as far as eating their meat raw—he was hungry, but he wasn’t that hungry—but the oil he could tolerate. He was in the middle of chugging down a jar when Heart walked in. Fucker was up to something and wasn’t even bothering to hide it. 

“Higgs.”  
“Smartass.”  
He sat back down at the table and put his feet up.  
“Where the hell’ve you been?”  
“I was gathering supplies,” he said.  


Higgs thought that was a pretty shitty lie, considering he only brought back one case. Heart set it down on the table like he was betting it. He gave the table a glance over and said, “Solitaire. How...quaint.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”  
“‘Quaint?’ It means—“  
“Not the word, dammit! What you’ve got against solitaire?”  
“Nothing against it. I never expected you to be the type, is all,” Heart said. “I prefer blackjack.”  
“Since you know so much about me, what is my _type?_ ”  
“Someone who isn’t afraid to order you around.”  


Higgs slammed his fists down.

“Talking ‘bout card games, smartass!"  
“Ah. Poker, I presume.”  
“Now you’re gettin’ me, Heart,” he tossed the package aside. “How’s about we play a game? Not like you’ve got somewhere to be.”  


Heart gave the most dramatic sigh he’d ever heard in his life and sat his ass down. He couldn’t put his complaints to words anymore, so he had to find more subtle ways to piss him off. Shit like rolling his eyes, sighing too loudly, or doing a half-assed job at cleaning his shoes.

“We’re gonna play a nice little game of _strip_ poker,” Higgs grinned. “Sound like fun?”


	14. Heartman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptions of the following warning tags: _Implied/Referenced Abuse,_ as it describes some of Higgs' past injuries from physical abuse; _Implied Sexual Content,_ where Higgs talks about his thoughts on Sam, and Heartman criticizes him. There is also a mention of blood.

What on earth had he gotten himself into? 

Game nights weren’t unheard of back at headquarters; he’s had his fair share of poker and blackjack wins. But _strip_ poker? 

“I—I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said, fixing his shirt collar. 

Heartman felt Higgs’ eyes on him, taking him apart the way he would a whale. His handiwork was ruthless. He’d pry the creature asunder until he had what he wanted, be it a section of blubber or a shard of whalebone. The Higgs he knew would not waste time playing mindless card games for no reason. Strip poker was the closest he would ever get to laying him bare without taking a knife to his chest. 

“C’mon, Heart. Don’t act like you ain’t seen this all before. Hell, I’ve seen Sam’s _package,_ ” he whistled, pleased with himself. “Haven’t you?”  
“I’m sorry, you’ve what?”  
Higgs’ laughter was unrestrained, coming out in staccato bursts like gunfire.  
“I’ve been to his ‘private’ room. I’ve seen his _private_ , uh—room. And sorry to disappoint you, but it ain’t that big. Paid him a _little_ visit when he was in the shower. Soon as he was done—I was gone. Poof,” he explained. “Didn’t even know I was there.”  


The initial shock had worn off, and all Heartman felt was disgust. Higgs was the most forward person he’d ever met, and hearing his exploits when he still had abilities no longer surprised him. He wondered why he hadn’t hurt Sam, then. If he wanted to kill the porter, that would’ve been the prime opportunity. It was clear that the visit served no purpose other than to satisfy him; there was no other logical explanation. 

“Didn’t peg you for a voyeur,” Heartman finally said, as he watched Higgs shuffling the cards.  
“It ain’t voyeurism if I’m a god. All seeing, all knowing. I just saw what I was meant to see,” he replied. “Jealous?”  
“I’ve no interest in seeing you nude, Higgs.”  
“No interest in seeing _me_ , or no interest _at all?_ ”  
There was no anger in his voice. Only curiosity.  
“The former.”  
At this, the god fell silent. He tilted his head at him inquisitively, the way a dog would upon hearing an unfamiliar call from its master.  


Swishing around his jar, he said, “Tell you what. What say we make this a little more interesting, hm? Tweak the rules a bit.

“You win, I’ll start treating _you_ like a god. I’ll answer all your goddamn questions. Start playing nice. Because I can, Heart. You’re always going on and on about Higgs the Altruist well...now’s your chance to bring him back.”  
His inflection had shifted at the last words, which might’ve meant he was telling the truth for once.  
“And if you win?"  
“We’re going to take a nice walk outside. You’ll get down on your knees. Show some dignity in defeat—that is, if you’ve still got any by then. And you’re going to say: ‘Higgs Monaghan, the Particle of God who permeates all existence. I am your obedient servant.’ Then you’ll fucking act like it. Not this half-assed bullshit you’ve been putting out.  
“So, what’s it going to be?”  
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”  


Higgs grabbed another jar from under him and unscrewed the lid. He nudged it towards him. Seeing as Heartman had little else to lose, he took it. The liquid was dark yellow and smelled an awful lot like urine, which he presumed it was. Higgs must’ve caught him grimacing.

“It’s whale oil, Heart. Ain’t half bad,” he assured, finishing his drink. “Lemme give you a rundown so you don’t fuck this up. [Five-card draw.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Five-card_draw) We’re betting clothes. You want to get rid of a card, gotta beg me for it, because I’m dealing. Player with the better hand doesn’t take off shit. Worse hand has to take off the number of clothes that were bet. Game ends when one of us is stripped down to nothing. And since I’m a generous god,” he held up a finger. “Each of your eight buttons counts as _one_ piece of clothing.” 

Heartman already knew how to play, but listened regardless. He looked at his buttons and counted them. There were indeed eight. “You’ve counted the buttons on my shirt?” he asked, impressed and slightly unnerved.  
“Yeah. So what?”  
“I, um...believe in fairness,” Heartman said, buttoning the rest of his shirt up. “And if I am not mistaken, you seem to care a great deal about it as well.”  
“Oh, I believe in a fair exchange.”  
Higgs produced a black mask from his pocket, smirked, then pulled it over his face. Though Heartman could no longer see his expression, he knew the man was still smirking. 

Higgs spent no time making his first bet, a single glove. Heartman betted his glasses.  
“You ready to play blind, Heart?”  
“With the game we’re playing, I would prefer to see as little as possible…”  
“Well, fold and you won’t have to see anything,” he leaned back once more, the lawn chair creaking like a loose door hinge. Perhaps this was his tell—leaning back whenever he had the better hand. But it was too soon to make assumptions.  


Heartman became acutely aware of the muscles on his face and hands. Did he appear too wooden, too relaxed? He folded and unfolded his legs underneath the table, trying to make himself comfortable to no avail. Higgs had leaned forward, digging his elbows into the table. His cloak cast a deep shadow over his mask. 

Higgs raised his bet to include his other glove. In turn, Heartman offered his cufflink.  
Afterwards, they revealed their hands.  


“Fucking hell!“

Higgs slammed his fists on the table, causing their jars of whale oil to rattle violently. Heartman’s drink was teetering close to the edge, so he steadied it and fixed the glasses that remained on his face.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day. But I’m just getting started, Heart.”

In the rounds that followed, the god grew irate. He was shirtless, clothes sprawled on the sand as if he’d gone on for an impromptu skinny dip. His skin was unnaturally pale and bore no tattoos aside from the ones on his forehead. The enthusiasm Higgs held in the beginning of their game had all but faded, replaced by a quiet fury.

Heartman was in a similar disheveled state. His glasses and cufflink were gone, and his shirt was down to its final button. The sand that seeped between his toes felt cold. He reluctantly revealed his hand, which consisted of a pair of spades. 

“I can beat you, Heart,” Higgs muttered, tossing his boots over his shoulder. “I can beat you!”

Heartman took a sip of the whale oil and grimaced. Frankly, he didn’t know if it could get him intoxicated. As he downed the rest, he hoped it would; or that Higgs would mutually agree to forget everything that had transpired here. The thought was comforting at first, like the numbing chill of cold whiskey—then came the aftertaste, burning him on its descent. Their verbal intercourse was hostile and distant at best, but intercourse nonetheless. And he enjoyed it,—might’ve even savored it—in all its bitterness...

Higgs decided to bet his shirt and trousers, and Heartman did the same. Out of habit, he reached into his pockets to empty them. He felt his wedding ring. When he tried to hide it in his palm, Higgs let out a sarcastic whistle.

“Shit, wouldya look at that. Was hopin’ you’d buy me dinner first, but—“  
“I’m—I’m not parting with my ring.”  
“Win and you won’t have to!” he jeered. “If it’s so goddamn important to you then how come I ain’t ever seen you wearin’ it?”  


Heartman said nothing as he stared at the ring.

“What was it you said? You became a researcher to look for your dead wife and kid. Means you don’t think they’re dead. Explains a lot. Why you’ve been out and about, wanderin’ this shithole. Doing fuck all to get out. You’re just _dying_ to get stranded on a Beach, ain’t you?  
“Just didn’t think it would be this one, huh?”  
“Wouldn’t you do the same?”  
“Do what?”  
“If there was a chance that your family was still alive, wouldn’t you search for them too?”  
“Oh, Hearty boy. Sure, no man’s an island. That's only because he's a goddamn Beach.”  
Higgs staked his knife into the center of the table. He had been refusing to bet it every round. Until now.  


“All in.”

Chiralium gold. Curved at the blade with specks of bronze on its serrations. Even the newest of blades, if not properly cleaned, can accrue some rust. But he knew blood turned the color of rust when left on metal for too long.

Higgs had been leaning forward, his bare elbows flush against the table. The god had glanced at his cards once and replaced two. Heartman’s hand wasn’t particularly strong, consisting of a single high card—a king of hearts. Perhaps Higgs was right. His luck had run out.

But poker wasn’t about luck. Not entirely, at least.  
He slid his ring next to the knife.  


“All in.”

Higgs grabbed the ring and held it up to the light. Heartman shifted in his seat, afraid that the other man would promptly toss it into the sand. But, unexpectedly, he tried it on.

“Been a while since I’ve had any gold on me. You won’t be needing this anymore. Ain’t that right?”

When Higgs slipped it on his ring finger, Heartman wanted to reach over the table to stop him. But in order to convince him that he had the better hand, he must maintain his composure.

“I have lost everything once,” he began, keeping his gaze on the ring. “I am not afraid of losing everything again. Are you?”

The smile on Higgs’ face faltered. Then came laughter, tepid and indifferent, as if he had taken offense to being asked such a question. The smile did return to his face, eventually. He showed his hand, and he too had only a high card. 

A _jack_ of hearts. 

“MOTHERF—!” 

Higgs slammed his fists. The sound of broken glass, unmistakably sharp, cut through the silence. He swore even louder. His hands, pale as moonlight, now streaked in the blood red of a lunar eclipse. 

Heartman stood up without a second thought. It was human decency, he reasoned, to show some concern for an injured being. Despite Higgs’ claims, he was still only mortal. A shard of glass had embedded deep into the center of his palm, and his blood dripped onto the sand in bright red pearls. 

“Higgs, you’re—”  
“I KNOW, smartass!”  


Higgs retrieved his knife but did not point it at him. He cut a small piece of his cloak and wrapped it around his hand, the shard still inside. Then, with his uninjured hand, he slowly began to shed his clothes. Heartman wanted to remind him that their silly game should be the least of his worries, but doing so carried far too many implications. He turned around and gave the man some privacy. If he stopped him, it might suggest that their fair exchange meant nothing to him. And, knowing Higgs, any reluctance on his part meant adding yet another point of contention between them.

“You—you can keep your cloak on,” Heartman conceded, “if you wish.”

Higgs slowly walked past him, his sides exposed. Faded cuts banded his ribcage like gills. They were not the uniformly straight cuts of surgical scars, but crooked and thoughtless. It didn’t take a second glance for Heartman to discern that they were not self-inflicted. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to see them. But the image was etched into his mind and he could not shake it. The satisfaction he felt over his victory dissolved into pity, and it was as if he hadn’t won at all.

Higgs marched on, furthering the distance between them. His ripped cloak trailed behind him like the train of a veil. He stopped under the doorframe, but did not turn around.

“Congratulations,” he said, “you won the game.” Then left.

Heartman would regret this. He knew he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Five-card draw on Wiki]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Five-card_draw)  
> [[High card hand on Wiki]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_poker_hands#High_card)  
> *For a standard deck (52 cards), the jack is usually the lowest ranked face card, while the king is normally the highest ranked face card.
> 
> *Blackjack is also called _[Twenty-One.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackjack)_ The objective is to get exactly 21 points using your cards.


	15. Higgs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions blood and more about what happened between Higgs and his uncle. There's a few graphic descriptions and major spoilers for his journals, as well as the ending of the game.

Higgs’ hand hurt like hell. 

It was a huge ass piece of glass, sharp as a knife and twisting with every step he took. He had to get it out. Find someplace where Heart couldn’t see him do it. 

He found a flat rock by the sea, smooth enough to be mistaken for obsidian. He sat there, naked as the day he was born, staring at his hands. At Heart’s ring. _Just like daddy now_. Except his daddy was never his daddy—just an uncle pretending to be one. He remembered the day of his birth vividly; how his ‘daddy’s’ hands were the first things he ever laid eyes on. Old man always had his ring on him. A band of gold that felt cold and hard each time it collided with his jaw. 

He slowly unwrapped the piece of cloak he’d wrapped around his hand. It was heavy and pendulous, a wet tongue drooling blood all over the sands. The ocean began to blur in his peripherals. He thought he was about to pass out from all the blood he’d lost, but it was only the tears in his eyes. Fucking hell. He had to get the glass out. As he stared at it, he thought this must’ve been how his daddy felt, when he had shoved that kitchen knife into his stomach. Helpless. Scared. Like he was going to die—as impossible and stupid the comparison was. And in that impossible stupidity came another stupid thought. 

He needed Heart’s help.

Higgs tried to get up from the rock and fell on his bare ass. He laid there, looking up at the grey sky, the sand getting into places the sun couldn’t shine. _Stupid,_ he thought. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“...Higgs?” 

Smartass was looking down on him, blocking out the sun. The light rimmed him in silver, the rest of him dark and flat. In the blur of kohl and tears, Higgs might’ve mistaken him for an actual god. His equal. Some benevolent being that had been sent to the Beach to deliver his end. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, dying by his hands...

Higgs scrubbed his arm across his eyes quickly, fucking up his makeup.  
“The hell do you want?” he asked, not getting up.  
“I came here to help.”  
Heart was all dressed again. When he still had his shirt off, Higgs had noticed certain things about him, like the sunspots across his chest and the red scar where his heart was supposed to be. Higgs knew it was still in there, beating away, but he wondered what a guy like him do to deserve such a fucked up heart. 

He offered him his hand. 

Higgs didn't take it and got up on his own. He walked back to the rock and found his clothes folded in a neat pile. With his good hand, he threw on what he could; his shirt would have to wait. After that, he picked a direction and kept walking. 

Soon enough he heard footsteps behind him. Smartass had grit, he’d give him that. 

“There was a time when my condition left me prone to frequent injuries,” Higgs didn’t ask, but Heart explained anyway. “I’ve since made adaptations to my living space, but until those were complete, I had to take it upon myself to learn how to treat common injuries, should the need arise. And arise they did.  
“It seems you haven’t been able to extract the glass from your hand.”  
His eyes were burning up again. He walked faster. “Get off my fucking back, would’ya! Why the hell do you care anyway? I bet you’re enjoying this. Seeing me in fucking pain.”  
“I take no pleasure in another’s pain. Even yours, Higgs,” said Heart. “Now, I order you to stop.”

He stopped. But not because the fucker asked him to.

“Our agreement was that you shall treat me as a god for the remainder of my time here. You must do as I ask,” Heart continued. Then, in a tone that Higgs had never heard him use, “Give me your hand.”  
Higgs flipped him off with the hand that still had his ring on it.  
“This one?”  
“...The other one.”

Heart took a step closer. He wore death like musk, thick and pervasive. Any closer and Higgs would’ve choked on it. Not that he would’ve minded. 

“Allow me to help you, Higgs.” 

Heart’s voice got all soft, as if he was trying to put him to sleep. He stared at the cut again, blood dripping like timefall over his boots. It had to come out. One way or another. 

Higgs gave up his hand. He caught Heart hesitate for a second, but eventually he held him. He had rough hands, but his touch was gentle, tender. Hands made for caressing but worn down by time. He watched him reach into his sleeve and tear out the small strip that kept it from falling, wrapping it around the glass. His eyes sharpened to a point on his hand, like he was studying his blood and wondering what he tasted like.

Higgs wanted him to know. Wanted Heart to take one of his bloodied fingers into his mouth and slowly, agonizingly lick his blood off— 

“Well,” Heart suddenly said. His finger was nowhere near his mouth, not even close. “It’s in there quite deep. It will hurt when I pull it out.”  
Higgs managed to laugh.  
“That’s what she sa—FUCK!”

Heart pulled the glass out mid-fucking sentence. He must’ve hated him so damn much because he dug into his hand, hard, like he was trying to shove the cloth in place of the glass. Higgs wasn’t stupid and knew it was to stop him from bleeding out, but why was he pressing so goddamn hard? His glasses kept sliding off, and he thought of pushing them back up, see how he felt like it, but eventually he took them off. Never put them back on. It was the first time Higgs had seen his eyes up close. His were small, blue, deep-set. Familiar. Almost like Sammy’s, except there was a bit more sadness in them. 

“Almost done,” Heart muttered, just to fill the silence he hated so much.  
“Do you even know what the hell you’re doing? Last I checked you were a researcher not a doc. Your doc’s straight out of Frankenstein. Got his skull split open then stitched back together.”  
“Deadman. His name is Deadman.”  
“That ain’t a fucking name,” he groaned. “Then there’s you. _Heart_ -man. Already hiding behind a mask and using a fake name to boot. ”  
“I take it Higgs Monaghan is, indeed, your real name.”  
“That’s right. Picked it out myself,” and he was real proud of it too. “You’re a smartass. Ever heard of the Higgs Particle?”  
“It’s associated with the Higgs field. That which gives all other particles their mass. Without it, atoms would fly apart, and matter would not exist as we know it. Its very presence prevents mindless destruction. But you...you want nothing but mindless destruction,” Heart said. He sounded full of himself at the start, like always, but now his voice got shaky. Soon as he was done mummifying him, Higgs tore his hand away.  
“Hey now. No one said anything about mindless. You can thank your bosswoman for that. Amelie. Sweet, sweet, destructive Amelie.”

Heart looked confused. Guess it was his turn to explain shit. He walked to the water’s edge nearby. He had done it plenty of times, trying to get a sense of what being an Extinction Entity was like. To see the world through Amelie’s pretty blue eyes.

And all he saw was a whole lot of nothing. 

“I felt real sorry for her. All alone. Doing nothing but waitin’ for the end. I was doing her a favor. Hell, she was practically begging me to usher in the end of days. Even gave me the powers to make it happen.”  
Higgs picked up a pebble, juggled it in his good hand for a bit then skipped it across the water.  
“She’s an Extinction Entity, Heart. What do you think an entity made for extinction is gonna want to do? The destruction she wanted me to rain down on humanity—it’s not mindless. It’s inevitable. Ending’s already been written. No point in trying to make something out of nothing, so why don’t we just cut to the chase, huh? Save everyone a whole lot of pain and suffering.” 

He threw another pebble. It skipped a couple of spaces then sank, but the ripples remained, dancing on the water’s surface before disappearing entirely. Heart stood a few feet away from him, his sad face reflecting on the water. Higgs threw a pebble right at it and smiled as the waves distorted his features.

“To find meaning in the meaninglessness,” Heart began. “To make something out of nothing. Is that not what life’s purpose is?”  
“Don’t tell me you actually call that rinse and repeat bullshit of yours _living._ Every twenty-one minutes. You eat, shit, sleep, then die. Over and over again.”  


Higgs skipped one last pebble then walked the few steps over to Heart. For once the smartass had gone quiet. He could tell by his expression that the cogwheels of his brilliant brain had come to a screeching halt. Higgs put his bandaged hand on his shoulder.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’re alive.”

Heart stared at him for a long while. His small mouth opened, but no words came out.  
“That’s what I thought,” Higgs smirked, patting him on the shoulder. 

Satisfied, he started making his way back to the shelter.

“I don’t understand. Why not bring about the end herself?”  
He turned back around and saw that Heart hadn’t moved from his spot.  


“For the same goddamn reason I’m on this Beach,” he replied. “Attachment’s a bitch.”


	16. Heartman's Journal

Title

Attachment and the Importance of Touch

When

Day 12

I once spoke about the importance of hands. To touch is a conscious action. To grasp, moreso.

The handprints BTs leave on humans could be evidence that they’re reaching out to us, yearning to forge a connection. I always leave the Beach the same way— BTs reach out to me and return my body to the realm of the living.

If Higgs still possessed his abilities, this would’ve been a simple matter. According to my research, he was once capable of summoning BTs at will. Theoretically, this would allow him to call upon them to help us escape, but alas, he is powerless. His claim that his abilities came from Amelie further complicates things. Attachment does have the tendency to compound our problems...

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[BTs are Reaching Out to Us]](https://deathstranding.fandom.com/wiki/BTs_are_Reaching_Out_to_Us)


	17. Higgs' Journal

Title

Higgs' Journal

When

Day 22

Heart is up to something, I can feel it. Nothing new with the way he’s been kissing ass, but I seen him leave the shelter when he thinks I’m asleep. Don’t know where the hell he runs off to. Pretty sure I’ve seen all there is to see in this shithole.

He needs me. He’s never gonna say it to my face, but I know he’s thinking it. I gave him shelter, fed him. Saved his ass. He’s nothing without me. I’m not worried that he’s going to high tail it out of here. Not like he can get very far anyway.

I’m going to keep an eye on him. If that smartass tries to pull a fast one, he’s dead. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edit 11/27/20 - Added the line "saved his ass."]


	18. Heartman's Journal

Title

Higgs Monaghan

When

Day 14

Ever since our game, Higgs has been keeping a close eye on me. I surmise he is growing suspicious of my activities outside of the shelter. But he has not discovered my hideout yet, for if he did, it would be the death of me. To continue work on the raft would be too dangerous. Patience is a virtue indeed.

He has kept his word so far. Nothing too drastic, but I observed that not all of our conversations have devolved into shouting as of late. I have not yet experimented to see if he would go so far as to treat me like a god, though the idea is tempting. I would not consider myself someone who is easily moved to spite, but the ways with which he has treated me these last few weeks should not be without consequence. Furthermore, he refuses to return my wedding ring. The nerve of that man...

Shall I be so bold as to test him? Propose something outlandish and see if he would oblige me, like demanding my ring back? I could start small, I suppose. One such request here and there wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable.

  
  



	19. Heartman

Heartman cleared his throat, loudly. Higgs’ snoring sputtered to stop and he bolted upright, brandishing his knife. He had grown so accustomed to the response that he’d stand at arm’s length whenever he woke him. 

“The hell!? I could’ve cut you,” Higgs yelled, lowering his voice at the last words. 

Having been stuck with Higgs for what felt like weeks now, Heartman had a general idea of his mannerisms. A creature of habit, his morning routine officially began when he scratched a line onto the canvas adjacent to his chair. Then he would shove a handful of cryptobiotes into his mouth and wash it down with a glass—or several—of whale oil, depending on his mood. Afterwards, he’d drag his feet over to the clock and spring time forward, always alternating between noon or six o’clock. He hunted his prey around the same time each day, and upon his return, displayed the spoils of his conquest on the table. 

Once Higgs finished his drink, he walked over to the clock and began adjusting the time.  
“You want to tell me something. I can see it in your face,” he muttered, as he tinkered with the knobs on the back.  
“I do indeed. My first decree as ‘god’ is to switch us over to Heartman Standard Time.”  
“Fuck does that mean?” he sat back down at the table, feet up and knife spinning around his forefinger. 

Heartman set his ‘hourglass’ down in front of him. He had taken it upon himself to furnish the cryptobiote’s home. Black sand served as the base of the jar, adorned with seaweed and small rocks. He observed the creature to see if it had taken notice, but it swam as blissfully ignorant as before. 

“I studied cryptobiotes extensively as part of my research on the Death Stranding,” he explained. “They were not seen prior to the event, which suggests they might be tied to the other side. Their life and death cycle continues to progress here, on the Beach. We may not age as we should. The cryptobiotes, however,” he held up the jar and peered through it. “They die naturally at some point in captivity.  
“I’ve yet to determine if that equates to one day in the side of the living. But I shall hereby consider one cryptobiote life cycle as being one day on this Beach. Less arbitrary than your method, I believe.”  
“You’ve got a soft spot for these.” Higgs leaned forward, nearly pressing his eye against the glass. He tapped it a few times with his knife, grinning as the cryptobiote frantically swim away. “Gave the little shit a nice home and everything. What’s the point if it’s gonna die soon, anyway?”  
“It could at least die in comfort, I suppose.”

Heartman gave Higgs’ shelter a once-over. The point of the place often eluded him. He theorized it was human instinct to seek out shelter and community to increase chances of survival, and Higgs was nothing if not a survivalist. So why, then, would he build an elaborate shelter rather than a boat? The question floated in the shores of his mind, awaiting an answer. One he feared he might never know.

He looked back at Higgs and saw that he was preparing to hunt.  
Slinging his rifle on his back, he said, “That’s your power play, switching timezones? Can’t say I was expecting much.”  
“There is...something else,” he replied. “I would like my ring back. If you don’t mind.”  
Higgs scoffed. He made a show out of removing his gloves and polishing his ring with it. “You think I’d just hand it back to ya? Just like that.”

Heartman didn’t deem the question worth answering. It was absurd for him to believe, even briefly, that Higgs had changed after their game. He was still as difficult and impetuous as before, determined to find every opportunity to spite him. 

Higgs walked over and held his wrist, but not forcefully for a change. He anticipated that he would lick his hand, but he did not.  
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this ring’s,” he pressed their hands together. “A damn good fit. See, you and I...we ain’t so different.”  
The man tried to lock his fingers around his. Heartman freed his hand before he could.  
“I’m nothing like you,” he remarked. 

“There’s a time for everything, Heart,” was all he said, before hooking his carrier onto his waist and heading outside. Not wanting to draw suspicion, Heartman followed, bringing an empty jar with him.

They were headed westward, through the supposed Valley of Kings, a swath of solitary dunes and whales. But there were no kings here, only two damned souls wandering the sands for all eternity. Higgs always made a pitstop here to visit the painting. He expected the man to make him leave, as he often did. But today he allowed him to stay. 

Higgs propped his rifle up on his shoulders, hands bare and stolen ring on full display. It frustrated him to see that he’d been right: the ring fit him. The man must’ve caught him staring at it.

“If you want it back, you’ll have to kill me,” he said, gaze fixed on the painting. “And pry it off my cold, dead finger.”

He shot him his usual sardonic smirk. So certain was he that someone like him was incapable of retaliation. Of passion. He was nothing like Higgs; he did not have the same propensity for destruction. Still, he had every intention of getting out of this Beach alive. If it came down to Higgs’ life or his own, self-preservation would always triumph. 

After all, Higgs was presumed dead. And one couldn’t kill someone who was already dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to update monthly, but since next month will be holidays and finals for me, there is a chance I might not be able to until January of next year. I usually post update announcements on my Instagram stories ([@eurydia_](https://www.instagram.com/eurydia_/)) and you can also reach me there if you had any questions or would just like to talk. Have a happy and safe holiday everyone! ♥


	20. Higgs' Journal

Title

Higgs' Journal

When

Day 25

I asked the resident smartass if he’s read that old book I found way back when—the Wisdom of the Egyptians. And I’ll be damned, he has. No one reads shit these days except him.

Even knew a couple of passages by heart. He made that stupid ass pun alright. I would’ve punched him in the face if he didn’t start quoting one of my favorite passages—about how death ain’t the end, so long as the body had a soul to come back to. It makes sense for the guy who died sixty times a day to believe in rebirth.

Show off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and support ❤  
> I made another playlist for this fic if you are interested: [[Nihilist Abyss on Spotify]](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3jaHJnrJZ95ihJ3aypCJKN?si=w_RuD9fRSZi6HBYn5fN4MA)  
> (Warning tags for this fic apply to the playlist.)


	21. Heartman's Journal

Title

Kintsugi

When

Day 17

_Kintsugi,_ or “golden repair,” is the ancient Japanese art of mending broken pottery. It was achieved by filling in the cracks of a damaged object with a mixture of lacquer and gold.

From a philosophical perspective, _Kintsugi_ treated brokenness and breakage as a natural part of the pottery’s life cycle. An aspect of its history which should not be disguised, but embraced. The artform became so popular that by the 17th century, collectors were destroying otherwise undamaged pottery in order to mend them with gold.

If only the same can be done with us humans. Are we not all searching for someone who will see past our brokenness? Someone who accepts us despite our flaws, who will set us in gold and make us feel valued once more? But I digress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Kintsugi on Wiki]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kintsugi)


	22. Higgs

Higgs got up from his chair and cursed. The creaking was goddamn loud and Heart was still asleep. He’d been sleeping more and more, probably so he wouldn’t have to feel hungry. But if that was how he wanted to spend the last of his days, so be it. He liked him better asleep anyway: it was the only time he wasn’t talking. Heart was a heavy sleeper and there’d been a handful of times when he thought he’d up and died. 

Not that he worried about him. 

He carved another line onto the board. Twelve days. How much time Heart had left to get them out of the Beach. Higgs had to admit he didn’t have much faith in him from the start, when he licked his face and tasted the salt of his selfishness, the bitter aftertaste that told him he wasn’t an altruist. So he had bandaged up his hand. He could’ve done it himself. Soon as he got thirty lines on his board, he was still gonna kill him. No two ways about it. 

Higgs went out with his rifle and carrier. Brought some jars while he was at it. Some days he got so hungry that even the rotting whales looked appetizing, the sand like seasoning on a tender piece of meat. Gone were the days when he dreamed of pizza falling from the sky and straight into his gaping mouth.

In the grey sunlight, he felt more disembodied than he ever had his whole life, as if his _ka_ had finally given up, flicked off his _ha_ and peaced the fuck out. It wasn’t everyday he contemplated his mortality, but with Heart around, it couldn’t be helped. He talked out of his ass half the time, but once in a blue sun, something profound came out of his mouth. A theory, an observation, a question, words that Higgs could only string together in a journal but never in conversation. If there was one thing Heart was good at, it was going on about things most people didn’t give two shits about. 

Heart hadn’t answered him, whether he was alive or not. But he didn’t have to be a Beach Scientist to come up with theories. Smartass was alive, alright—might’ve even enjoyed that rinse and repeat bullshit he called his ‘life.’ And he envied him for it. 

Give a happy man a miserable life and he’ll find a way to stay happy. But give a miserable man a happy life and he would still be just that—miserable. 

Higgs finally got to a biote hive. He waited for the little shits to poke their heads out of the holes, but the hive he found was quiet. Dead quiet. He knocked on its roof, asked if anyone was home. No answer. He looked in one of the holes, then another and another. The whole hive had been cleaned out.

He went to all the usual spots. Almost every hive was picked clean. He brought three jars with him and managed to only get two biotes. 

Two fucking biotes.


	23. Heartman

“SMARTASS!” 

Higgs stormed into the shelter, throwing the spoils of his last conquest on the ground. The packages clattered with the suddenness of a thunderstorm.

“Have you been eating a ton of those little shits behind my back!? If I find out that you’ve—“  
“Could you just—relax and tell me what’s going on? ”  
Higgs grabbed his hourglass off the table and shook it at him.  
“The biotes! All the hives are fucking DRY!”

Heartman found it hard to believe, given that the man always returned with jars filled to the brim with the creatures. By his fury, he could tell he would soon be implicated in this development. He pinched the bridge of his nose and contemplated it. He couldn’t have possibly eaten enough to make a dent in their supply. His condition made it so that he hadn’t had a proper meal in ages; somewhere along the way he lost his appetite and never fully recovered it. He would still grow hungry, but he certainly didn’t possess the same primal hunger as Higgs.

“You’ve checked _all_ the possible cryptobiote locations?” he posited. 

Higgs tossed the hourglass at him, forcing him to drop his book and catch it. The man then walked over to his map and began to draw exes on it with his kohl-stained fingers. 

“I’ve mapped out every single hive on this Beach. Place is changin’. And you’ve got somethin’ to do with it,” he muttered, no longer yelling but his expression as scathing as before. “You’ve done your research on ‘em. What the hell’s going on?”  
“I don’t know,” Heartman answered, earnestly. He looked at his hourglass, the one cryptobiote still inside, then set it down on the table.  
“Cryptobiotes are hardy creatures. They can survive under the harshest conditions and can even enter a sort of hibernation period—cryptobiosis—which increases their longevity. But these are...unique circumstances we’ve found ourselves in.”

Higgs fell silent. Then, “no shit.”

“As you know, I’ve never been on a Beach for this long. But I have a theory.  
Normally, Beaches only have one occupant. The owner of the Beach themselves. One Beach, one person. That is the rule. I am the exception, as my Beach is connected to others. Even yours. But we were never meant to occupy the same Beach for this long. There’s a finite amount of resources here. It’s likely that we are depleting the cryptobiotes faster than they can reproduce.”

Heartman glanced over at Higgs, who stood in front of the map throughout his entire explanation. It was still only a theory, one he hoped would be disproven. The place belonged to Higgs, after all, and he would know it best. 

“This is your Beach,” he said. “If something has indeed changed, you would likely be the first to know. Not I.”  
“If you haven’t figured it out by now, this ain’t my fucking Beach,” he corrected, spitting on the sand. “It’s Amelie’s. She knows I’m stuck here. That Fragile didn’t kill me. She’s trying to starve me out.”

Heartman inspected his map. The words, HIGGS’ BEACH, were written in such large print that he could see it from where he was seated, some six feet away. So it was Amelie’s Beach. Nothing here belonged to him. It was typical of Higgs to blame others for his ineptitude. 

He couldn’t help but mutter, “perhaps if you knew how to ration your resources, we wouldn’t be having this issue,” under his breath.  
“The hell did you just say?”  
It might be the death of him, but he felt honor bound to share his observations.  
“You use up far too much resources. It’s apparent that you lack certain survival skills. I’ll have you know I’ve been on an expedition—I’m not as useless as you think I am. I’ve been rationing my cryptobiotes. Clearly, you have not. ”

Higgs approached him and stood at a distance that was too close to his liking. They were nearly the same height, so he stood toe-to-toe with him, meeting his sharp gaze with his own.

“Let me ask you somethin’, Heart. How long do ya think I’ve been here, huh? How many uh, ‘days,’ have I been _stranded_ on this Beach?”  
“I don’t know,” he replied, avoiding his gaze. It was the first time he heard him admit he was stranded.  
“Twenty-five fucking days, Heart!” he suddenly yelled, shoving him to the ground. “And that doesn’t even count the days right after Fragile left me here for dead. The days I wasted building this shelter from the ground up, where I’ve been letting your ungrateful ass stay. So you tell me which one of us lacks survival skills, eh?”

At the end of his tirade, or what seemed to be the end, he leaned over him, blocking out what little light crept into the room. He juggled his knife in one hand, and at intervals, it caught sunlight and blinded him. Heartman tried to turn away, but he felt Higgs’ fingers clutching his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. He thought of the adage of the eyes being windows to the soul, but he figured that no matter how intently he stared into Higgs’ eyes, he would not find it. But he stared nonetheless.

“You have it easy, Heart,” he backed away, throwing on his hood. “You know you’re gonna get out of this shithole. Beach has got to spit you out at some point, right? Me?” his voice grew soft, almost pained. “Fucked six ways from Sunday with no way out.”

Heartman sat up on the sand, turning the words over in his mind. The good-natured part of him longed to be sympathetic, to assure him that he still intended to help him escape. This was the tip of the proverbial iceberg that was his ego, the facet which he showed Higgs and everyone. They knew him as kind, polite, with an infinite well of patience. But another part of him, partially submerged beneath the water’s surface, was a selfishness he wished he didn’t possess. A primitive part of his brain that wanted, simply, to survive.

He got up and dusted himself off. He could no longer bring himself to give Higgs assurance. False hope was far more dangerous than no hope at all. Ultimately, the man was right. He had been to countless Beaches and escaped every single one—Amelie’s Beach was no exception. He expected to feel hopeful at the thought, but guilt twisted his stomach into knots and wrung an apology out of him. 

“I’m sorry, Higgs.”

“Sorry!? You’re fucking sorry? How’s about you stop wasting time coming up with stupid theories about how this place works and get me the fuck out before I starve to death?” the fury from before had returned, more forceful than before. He grabbed an empty jar off a table and threw it against the wall, the glass exploding into glittering shards. 

“Unless that’s what you’re tryna do. ‘Cause that’s why Amelie sent you—”  
“No one sent me,” he answered, firmly. “Even if she did, what makes you think I would agree to such a thing? Being stuck with you for this long...it’s maddening.”  
“Whose fault do ya think that is?”  
He seemed ready to tear the place apart.  
“You’ve been hoarding those little shits behind my back. If it ain’t biotes, it’s something else,” Higgs accused. He faced him again, only now he had lowered his hood. His eyes shifted to the jar still in his hands. Heartman felt the urgency to step back, but he stood his ground. 

“I know you’re up to something,” he murmured, took a whiff of his neck, then drew back. “I’m gonna find out, one way or another.”

He sounded strangely calm, as if his scent told him what he needed to know. Higgs was perceptive, but he couldn’t possibly figure out he had been building a raft in secret from one sniff. Or could he? Heartman tried to calm his nerves by focusing on the equations on Higgs’ forehead. 

“Can’t say I didn’t see this coming. Destruction is part and parcel of the human condition. We were gonna screw this place up eventually. And according to your little theory, only _one_ of us is supposed to be here,” he continued, waving his finger before jabbing his chest with it. “Only one of us is getting out of here alive.  
“Sure as hell ain’t gonna be you if you don’t figure something out in twelve days. Or before you starve to death. Whichever comes first.”

Higgs snatched the hourglass from his hands. Then he ate the frightened cryptobiote inside, smirking as he chewed with his mouth wide open.


	24. Higgs' Journal

Title

Higgs' Journal

When

Day ???

Heart dropped the ball on me today. Basically we’re fucked.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the Beach is fresh out of biotes and I want one. Or a hundred. I’m fucking starving. Ain’t having dead whale for dinner. Might as well eat sand and rocks for breakfast while I’m at it. Christ on a crutch...

Knew this would happen eventually. Just didn’t think it’d be so soon. Destruction is part and parcel of the human condition, and it was only a matter of time before we ran this place dry. Fucking Heart just speeded up the process. 


	25. Heartman's Journal

Title

Higgs Monaghan

When

Day 20

I’ve resumed work on the raft. It’s nearly complete, all that’s left is to test its buoyancy and see if it can take my weight. It will be a challenge to move it to the shoreline unnoticed. I shall have to act when Higgs is asleep. I can only hope that there are more resources on the other side of the ocean to sustain me until the BTs arrive. So long as he is not in the vicinity, I can rest easy. 

At times I do find myself worrying about him. I know I am not solely responsible for the depletion of the cryptobiotes on the Beach, even if he insists that I am. But it would be imprudent to absolve myself completely. Perhaps that is why he despises me so much.

Not that it’s relevant. Whether or not he enjoys my company is of no importance. The Beach will ‘spit me back out’ soon enough. Afterwards, things can go back to the way they were. 


	26. Higgs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags have been added to reflect the coming chapters: **blood and injury; suicide attempt.**
> 
> There will be some graphic descriptions of Higgs trying to kill and/or picturing himself killing Heartman later on. There is also alcohol use in this chapter.
> 
> Thank you for your patience and your support! ❤ The next few chapters are some of my favorites.

Hunger was a spiteful bitch that made the slow days go by even slower. 

Higgs could barely move without feeling his stomach burning a hole right through him. He was starting to think Heart was right: he ain’t a survivalist. Not that he’d ever say it to his face. Better to starve to death than admit he was right all along.

Heart came back with a suitcase like always. Most days it was something useless: an unreadable book that would just take up more room in his bookshelf, bits and pieces of an incomplete board game, or a dying plant. He made a game out of guessing what was inside before Heart would open it.

“Tell me there’s a pizza in there,” Higgs said. It got him a laugh. When he didn’t join in, Heart realized he was being serious and stopped.  
“Unfortunately, no. But it still might be of interest to you.”  
Heart opened the case. Inside wasn’t a pizza box but an unopened bottle of wine and a cheap mask. He grabbed the bottle, uncorked it with his knife, and started drinking straight away.  
“I don’t suggest—“  
It was halfway empty by the time he stopped to listen.  
“Drinking. On an empty stomach.”  
“Relaaax. I wasn’t gonna finish it,” he burped and offered it to him. “Here. Ya earned it.”

They wordlessly passed the bottle back and forth until it was empty. Higgs licked the last few drops before setting it down. Gently this time.

Fragile told him he was a sad drunk once. 

He’d met all kinds of drunks in his life. She was the happy-go-lucky, all-rounds-on-her kind of drunk. His buddy, the softest spoken guy he knew before he met Heart, turned into the loudest man in the room. His daddy was the angry, violent kind of drunk who liked to hit where it hurt—with his words, his fists, sometimes both,—depending on how many he’d had. He wondered what kind Heart was. Looking at him now, hunched over the table as if he was alone at a bar, he pegged him as the sad type. Just like him. 

Higgs reached over him and grabbed the mask. It was a frowning face made of flimsy plastic and spray painted gold. 

“Whad’ya think, Heart?” he asked, putting it on. “This good enough for the afterlife?”

Heart fixed the thin strings that kept it in place, then adjusted the whole thing until it fit his face better. Somewhat. He still couldn’t see much out of the tiny eye slits, but he could see enough to catch the smirk on Heart’s flushed face. 

_Touchy kind of drunk._  
“Could’ve done that myself,” Higgs muttered.  
“I know, it was. I was just,“ he gestured to his own face vaguely. “Trying to help.”  
“Sayin’ I dunno how to wear a mask?”  
“Not at all. You wear one all the time,” Heart replied. He took off his glasses and started pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can make me one already, I suppose. I’m already dead.”

“You don’t know shit about bein’ dead,” he shot. The edges of the mask were digging into his cheeks, but he didn’t want to take it off just yet. “Nothing about livin’ either. Couldn’t even...couldn’t even say you’re alive to my face.”

Heart had the nerve to cross his arms at him, voice going up a pitch. “What did you want me to do? Lie to you?”  
“Whatever the hell you want!”  
He got up from his chair and tore his mask off.  
“Lie, scream, punch me in the goddamn face, I don’t care—just do fucking SOMETHING!”  
Heart took him by the shoulders.  
“I’m trying!” he yelled. Then softly, “I’m trying. That’s why I...why I built a...”

He sat back down and scrubbed his hands down his face. If the bottle wasn’t empty, he would’ve handed it back to him. 

“Why do you despise me so much?” he asked, eventually.

Higgs took a seat and tried to come up with something clever. Maybe the drink was messing with his head, because normally he’d be able to list out all the reasons why he hated him. When he couldn’t, he went, “Since when did you start carin’ about what I think?”

Heart looked at him sideways. The red went all the way to his ears. He played with his glasses, stroking the earpieces with his long fingers. 

“I always have.”

Higgs scoffed. He tried to take another sip from the bottle, but he forgot it was empty. 

“You wanna know why I don’t like you, Heart?” he jabbed his broad chest with his finger. “I _envy_ you. You and your shitty life, your fucking powers. ‘Cause as shitty as your life is, you still made the best of it. Got married, had a kid. Found folks that are like family to you. You...you made something out of nothing.”

Higgs tried to take another drink from the empty bottle. Pissed, he threw it at his dartboard. Looked like a bullseye from where he was sitting, but he couldn’t tell anymore. Heart didn't even flinch.

“Folks‘ll remember you.”  
The rest spilled out of him, suddenly, accidentally, like knocking over a drink.  
“I’ll remember you. Honey, you’ll just...just forget you ever met me.” 

Heart’s face grew blurry, the room along with it. The urge to run, to clean up the mess he’d just made, made his body act before his mind did. He stood up. Pulled his hood over his head. He didn’t get very far before finding himself in Heart’s arms. 

“How can I ever forget someone like you?” Heart murmured in his ear.

Higgs wrapped his hands around his shoulders and held him tighter. Buried his face in the crook of his neck and cried, really cried, the way he would when he was alone. 

He liked how believable he sounded, the hopefulness in his voice. Forgetting was the easy part; it was the remembering that took effort. The ancient Egyptians would erase names from inscriptions, even carve entire faces off sarcophagi to make sure someone was forgotten. They knew that death wasn’t an end— being forgotten was.

As he leaned his chin against Heart’s shoulder, he wondered what he’d do with his memory after all this was over, if he would erase his name from the history books of his mind, chip away at the mental image of his face until there was nothing left but an unnamed, faceless sarcophagus with a stolen ring and a plastic death mask. Theirs was the kind of history that wasn’t filled with war but with almosts, what ifs, and what could’ve beens, the kind of history that made him want to believe in an afterlife, because only then would he get another chance to fix whatever had been between them. To get back the time he wasted, not loving him sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Damnatio memoriae on Wiki]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Damnatio_memoriae)


	27. Higgs' Journal

Title

Higgs' Journal 

When

Day ???

Feels like a whale fell on my head. Fucking hell.

I was hoping I wrote some stuff down before I blacked out, but I didn’t. Woke up with my face against Heart’s chest. Clothes were still on, so that answers that. Don’t remember much of what I said, but I could’ve sworn we got all touchy feely and hugged one out...


	28. Heartman's Journal

Title

_In vino veritas_

When

Day 25 (?)

Against my better judgement, I decided to have a drink with Higgs.

My recollection of our conversation is not as complete as I would like, but I seem to recall embracing him. And telling him that I won’t forget him. That I remember quite vividly.

 _In vino veritas_ —in wine, there is truth. I fear I might’ve said something I shouldn’t have. It wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility for me to have told him about the raft. If I have, so far he has made no mention of it. Regardless, it’s best not to wait for him to make the discovery.

I must leave, and soon.


	29. Higgs' Journal

Title

Higgs' Journal 

When

Day ???

Dear diary. Today I ate part of a dead whale. A dead fucking whale. 

I thought those biotes were nasty, but decomposed whale just blew them out of the water. Couldn’t even keep the shit down, got it all over my boots. Made sure Heart cleaned them real good after. 

I’m fucking starving. Never been this hungry before. Now I’ve read a couple of survival stories in my heyday, and this would be the part where I take one of those whale heads and put them on stick, start talking to it, worshiping it as my god and shit. 

But that ain’t happening. There’ll only be one god on this Beach. For as long as I live.


	30. Higgs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags have been added to reflect the coming chapters: **blood and injury; suicide attempt.**
> 
> There will be some graphic descriptions of Higgs trying to kill and/or picturing himself killing Heartman.

Higgs grabbed his knife to draw another line on the board. 

His hands shook and his stomach growled like a dying animal. He was alone. Heart was outside, probably doing fuck all to fix their situation. 

He was going to carve another line on the board. But there was no point.  
There was never a point.

He swore. He cried. Yelled. Fury seized him by the face, forced him to look into its gasoline eyes and wouldn’t let go until he lit the match. Every thought and fever dream of destroying the place, case by case, came to him like an apparition of destruction. _Tear the fucking place down, it said._

_Tear it all down._

Before he could stop himself, he crossed out all the lines. Hacked at it until it was a mess of jagged slashes and exit wounds. It felt good. 

Cathartic. 

His bookshelf. His fucking bookshelf. He stared at the spines of all his illegible books, dragging his knife across them until he’d scarred all the volumes. He gripped one of the exposed case handles and yanked it as hard as he could, watching the books fall to the sand with a dampened, hollow thud. He tore down every table he could get his hands on; opened cases at random and flung their contents against the wall. Unsatisfied, he gathered all his empty jars, lined them up on the only table still standing, then threw a book at each one. The sound of breaking glass reminded him of thunderstorms and cracked knuckles and broken bones, and if he screamed loud enough he knew it still wouldn’t be enough to mask the voice in his head that told him he deserved it, all of it: the fucking pain, the heartache, the endless, mind-numbing rinse and repeat bullshit that was his life. 

It took him weeks to build the whole place. Only seconds to tear it apart. 

He laid on the sand, staring up at the sky, kohl and blood on his hands. The cloth roof wasn’t there anymore and all he could see were grey clouds. 

A steel sky.


	31. Heartman

Heartman returned to Higgs’ shelter, only to find it in ruins. The torn roof had collapsed, and what’s left hung limply over a tower of suitcases. Packages laid open on the sand, some empty, others filled with decayed, half-eaten whale innards. It looked like the scene of a plane crash, daylight beating down on the wreckage of personal effects, cases, papers, and books. Heartman saw Higgs laying in the middle of it all. Seized with sudden worry, he ran to him, glass crunching like snow with each step he took. 

Higgs was shivering, hood thrown back and pale forehead visible. He was asleep. He looked more human this way, an ordinary man without a god-complex, who grew tired, felt cold, snored loudly, and was plagued by nightmares. Some days he’d thrash about and mutter something indistinct, tears streaming down his face. Heartman never knew whether to wake him and risk getting punched in the face or to simply leave him be. 

Presently, the man was quiet, save for the intermittent rumbling of his empty stomach. The cut on his hand had opened again, and bright red blood stained his makeshift bandage. He reached for it but relented. 

He was leaving, wasn’t he?  
“Higgs. I’ll return,” he still said. “Wait for me.”

Heartman slowly rose to his feet and made his way to where the door once was. From there, he checked on Higgs again for good measure. He’d like to think it was to make certain he hadn’t woken him, but that wouldn’t be the whole of it. 

Without much thought, he grabbed the tattered blanket off his untouched bed and draped it over Higg’s body. He did it carefully, ceremoniously, as if he were dead and he was preparing the body for a viewing. But Higgs was not dead; his breathing hadn’t stopped. He made certain of it. 

Afterwards, he went outside, into the neverending morning. 

A dense fog had fallen over the place, at once foreboding and tranquil, like walking through clouds. He kept his gaze downward, following the ineffaceable footprints on the sand. He could tell which were Higgs’ and his own, and there was a certain melancholy in the way their footprints had always, between them, a set distance. As he retraced the steps back to his shelter, he saw the exact point on the sand where they’d go their separate ways. 

The gravitas of their situation hasn’t settled into him. He wondered if it was a defense mechanism, his psyche trying to protect him from descending into madness—or being consumed by guilt. He had been going about his days with the hope that he would eventually leave the place, that his stay here, however long it felt, was still ephemeral. 

He tried to picture what lay beyond the sea; to envision a life without him. He expected to find comfort in it. Instead it felt as if he were leaving a part of himself behind.

He arrived at the clearing where he kept the raft. He pulled it out from the ground and began dragging it to the shortline. All the while, he thought of him. Of the ring still on his hand. He supposed he couldn’t leave without it, but the more he thought of it the more it sounded like he was only searching for reasons to stay. Hadn’t he longed to leave the moment he set foot on the Beach? 

Higgs was every bit of the man he expected him to be. Volatile, reckless, self-destructive. But underneath his impetuous nature was a well-read man who had a good grasp of Egyptian history. Someone who possessed, in some measure, the capacity to empathize with his fellow man. It was not a product of his imagination, as he once feared. Higgs the Altruist existed at one point in history, and in quiet moments, he would see him, a fraction of him, like a jagged strip of gold on a ceramic. He saw him when he had touched him, when he held his hand as he wrapped his wound. It was as his stigmata, a comforting but illusory evidence of faith, yet the mark served a painful purpose: it told him that he was no god. He was a human being, a mortal who could bleed and hurt and mourn like any other, who longed for company and could not stand to be alone with his thoughts. So they were the same after all, in their loneliness, pain, and mortality. Their capacity for destruction. 

_Destruction is part and parcel of the human condition—_  
_So is love._

The words came to him suddenly. He stopped himself from entertaining it, tried to rationalize it as an errant observation, nothing more. He looked out at the sea, raft by his feet and suitcase in hand. The waves beckoned him, the seafoam leaving behind gentle white clouds. He nudged the raft with his foot, inch by inch, towards the water. His twisted heart wanted the vessel to capsize immediately, or fall apart as soon as a wave came; only a riptide would do and better yet, to take him with it, for if he were to drown on the way to the other side he would not have to face himself and be left to wonder why, of the 218,972 people he had met in his lifetime, he began to care for someone like Higgs Monaghan. 

Heartman was in the middle of pulling his raft out of the shore when he heard someone applauding behind him. 

Higgs shoved him aside and dealt with the raft first. The man pulled the sensor tape off and shredded it with his teeth like strips of meat. Heartman watched as his work of several weeks was destroyed in a matter of seconds. 

When there was nothing left, Higgs waded into the sea. The water came up to his knees and he could see his shoulders trembling. He called his name but he did not turn around. Carefully, he threaded into the water with him, reaching for his arm.  
A mistake.  
As soon as he did, Higgs grabbed his hand and tackled him. His back collided with the cold sand. 

“You were gonna leave me here to fucking DIE!”

Higgs’ screaming faded in and out as water rushed into his ears. Adrenaline forced him to swing his arms in desperation.  
“I wasn’t—I wasn’t going to leave you!” he yelped. Higgs briefly raised his head above the water as if he were a trophy. There was enough fire in his eyes to set the entire Beach ablaze, with them still on it.  
“I wanted to,” he continued, tasting salt and metal in his mouth. “You don’t understand...how much pain you’ve put me through.” 

A heartbeat passed. Higgs dragged his body out of the water and threw him against the shore. His sudden silence unnerved him. Without a word, he walked over to where his rifle was and dusted sand off it. If Heartman ran now, in the open, he would be shot at once. 

“You don’t know the first thing about _pain_!” he screamed over the waves. “Your family didn’t call you a useless piece of shit and beat your ass to drive the point home. So this? This fucking pain I’m putting you through!?

“It ain’t even half of it.” 

He threw his rifle out of reach, then gestured for him to come closer. Heartman didn’t move. The man’s face hardened like steel. He drew his knife but didn’t spin it, his grip tight and steady. This was the Higgs he knew. A rifle was too impersonal for his taste. Too distant.

Once they were face to face, Higgs gave him a sarcastic smile. “Didn’t even come to say goodbye.”

“I did,” he replied, earnestly.  
Higgs went quiet. Then he started laughing.  
“The shit folks say when they’re about to die. You’re—"  
“Oh, shut up!”

Higgs grew wide eyed and took several steps back. He continued to laugh, but it was more restrained than before. He kept walking backwards, gaze trained forward and not paying any mind to his step. His foot hit a rock and made him lose balance—and his knife. 

Heartman reached for it. 

“I’ve had enough of your baseless accusations.” He stood over him, holding the knife over his chest. “Your whining, snoring, humiliation. Your threats! You’re a narcissistic, insufferable man with a god-complex. And if you think me incapable of retaliation then you’re sorely mistaken. I wished I never met you. I wished that you hadn’t saved me, that I never ended up on this damned Beach, that I didn’t—I wish you were—“ 

He couldn’t bring himself to utter the word. 

Heartman expected to find hostility or fear in the man’s eyes—not sadness, in the form of a kohl-stained teardrop falling down his face. Higgs set his jaw but said nothing. For once, he was letting him speak, letting him make a fool of himself as he struggled to put to words what his twisted heart longed to say.

He didn’t think it was possible to love and hate someone all at once. To want to leave and stay forever. To loathe and worship the demon. 

Higgs gripped his wrists. With an unexpected gentleness, he guided the knife past his vest, to his exposed neck. 

“Destruction...part and parcel of the human condition,” he said, with a smirk.

Heartman broke free of his grasp and tossed the knife away. 

He got off him and stared down at his hands, which were stained red and black. He watched as the man stood and wiped his face with the back of his arm, blood and kohl smeared across his face like warpaint. He retrieved his knife. His neck bore no cuts, but he rubbed it as if it did.

“I want a good old fashioned boss fight,” he demanded.  
“Winner gets to end this rinse and repeat bullshit once and for all.”


	32. Higgs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes into detail on the tags: suicide attempt, blood and injury.

Higgs knew enough about death to not fear it.

He knew how the ancient Egyptians saw death, how it wasn’t really an end. Then again, they thought the heart was the seat of the soul, so they left it inside a dead person’s body instead of preserving it like all the other organs. Even had a ritual where they weighed it against a feather, and if it was heavier—which it probably was—it meant they were damned. It didn’t take a scale or a feather for him to know that he was too. 

His fists could say more than his heart ever could. 

Higgs grabbed Heart by the collar and sniffed his neck. He smelled the salt of the sea and the sweat of his frustration. He licked a pearl of sweat off his neck and let it melt on his tongue, the aftertaste making him smirk. Grey sand dusted Heart’s quivering mouth like salt on the rim of a martini. 

He grabbed his glasses and tossed them over his shoulder. Held his face, all tender and soft and affectionate, and for an instant he might’ve meant it. Might’ve even wanted to...

He punched him in the mouth before he could finish the thought.

“C’MON!”

Heart got off his ass and stood there like a damned fool, hands balled into fists but not swinging. Higgs closed in on him, throwing a few weak jabs at his forearms before gunning for his chest. His ribs smashed against his knuckles. Heart’s body crumpled to the ground and kicked up clouds of sand.

“Never been in a goddamn fistfight ‘fore, Heart? C’mon!”

Sorry ass coughed out blood but didn’t say a thing. He got to his feet, face flushed, lip busted open. Pursed that small mouth of his to try and stop the bleeding. Rage looked good on him: tinting his cheeks and arching his back, like a beast about to kill. 

“What’re ya waiting for?” he screamed. “Another death fucking stranding!?”  
“We don’t have to fight.” His voice didn’t sound familiar. It was hoarse and guttural, coming from the back of his throat. Must’ve gotten him in the rib real good. “I can...I can convince Fragile to—“  
“To what? Put me out of my fucking MISERY!?”  
Higgs aimed for his chest again, at the bones that housed his fucked-up heart.  
“Bitch ain’t dead after all,” he muttered. “Not like your wife and kid—!"

Heart tackled him. Fucking finally. Poke at the open wound that was his dead family and he’d draw blood right away. Higgs laughed as Heart pinned him to the ground, blood dripping from his chin and onto his face. Soon as he realized he wasn’t about to get punched, he licked the blood off his mouth. 

He could’ve sworn the dots in Heart’s eyes got bigger. 

Higgs threw his entire weight to flip him on his back. Breathing hard, he held him down with one hand and grabbed his knife with the other. Heart tried to hold him off as he hovered the tip over his chest. They struggled, grunting, heaving, panting, hands interlocked and gazes unbreaking. There was something violently intimately about it all, the way he looked under him. Sweat on his forehead and fear in his eyes, breath hitching in his throat. 

“G-go on,” Heart’s said. “I’m already dead.”  
He could’ve ended him.  
Plunge the knife between his third and fourth rib, clean. Pull it out nice and slow—watch him bleed. A pool of crimson under a steel sky. 

He got a good look at him. Started undressing him with his eyes. More than undressing, he wanted to take him apart with just a stare, limb by limb and atom by atom as he writhed in pain or pleasure or both; to see the muscle that laid beneath his skin, his beating heart in all its gory glory. But another part of him, weak, sentimental, wanted so desperately to protect him, to hold him, to keep him there forever—as his friend, hostage, lover, worshiper. 

That same part of him thought he wouldn’t have to force him to stay. That Heart would choose to on his own.

Higgs sheathed his knife and shoved him into the sand.  
They were back at the start. Rinse and repeat. Heart got up and dusted himself off like nothing happened. 

Because nothing did and nothing ever will.

“Fragile wouldn’t do that. Not even to someone like you,” he said.  
Higgs would’ve laughed but he was too tired to bother.  
“She hasn’t told ya everything. All she ever cared about was keepin’ up appearances. You still think she’s an angel, huh?” he asked, eyeing his rifle behind him. “You wanna know what she asked me to do, ‘fore you came along and screwed me over?”

The rest of the words caught in his throat, so he forced them out.

“Stranding or suicide.”

He walked the few steps over to his rifle, slung it over his shoulder then made his way back to him. His gait was already slow, but he still managed to trip over a damned rock. He would’ve fallen flat on his face if Heart hadn’t caught him. 

“See, her powers don’t work like yours. She can control it,” he continued, resting his chin against Heart’s shoulder. “She coulda visited me whenever the hell she wanted. Coulda saved me. Coulda popped in just to...just to flick me off. Doesn’t matter. Point is, she could’ve done fucking something.  
“I‘ve been waiting. Been waiting all this time for her to come back.”

He held Heart’s face. Ran his thumb across his mouth and wiped some of his blood off. 

“When I should’ve been waiting for you,” he murmured, voice breaking. “It should’ve...it should’ve been you.  
“But it’s too late for that.”

Before he could say anything, Higgs shoved the rifle into his chest. Heart looked at it like he’d never even held a gun in his life. But he was smart, and it didn’t take long for him to put two and two together. He turned it over in his hands until he got a good grip.  
Higgs got on his knees.  
Heart's eyes glistened, as if he was holding back tears. But it was probably the trick of the light; hunger making him see things that weren’t really there. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t matter in a few minutes.

“Kill me,” he begged. “End my fucking _pain_. Because I can’t...I can’t. I can’t live like this. All alone until the end of the world.”  
“Higgs...”  
“If you don’t kill me. I won’t stop,” he looked at him from under his eyebrows. ‘I won’t stop ‘till I usher in the end of days. ‘Till I rain down fire and brimstone on those modern-day Sodoms and Gomorrahs. ‘Till I get back _everything_ they took from me.”

He could stay like that forever if he wanted. On his knees, drowning in the blues of his eyes.

“Honey, to be killed by you,” he said, giving him one last smirk. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Heart finally raised the rifle at him. His face hardened, not a trace of pity written on it, and Higgs assured himself there was nothing to be afraid of. This was what he wanted from the very beginning, what they both wanted. The ending he’d written for himself.

_Death ain’t even an end_ , he thought, as he shut his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Been so long since he heard that rifle go off that he’d forgotten what it sounded like. All he remembered was that it had one bullet left with his name on it:

_Higgs Monaghan.  
Particle of God.  
Damaged goods.  
Lovestruck fool._

The click of a trigger and a sudden crack. A gunshot. Or bullet shattering bone. Or the sound of his skull splitting open before steel hit his brain—

One moment he heard waves. The next, silence.


End file.
